


Torn

by BlueInkAlchemist



Category: Overwatch (Video Game)
Genre: Blackwatch Era, F/F, King's Row Uprising, Lust, Oral Sex, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Pre-Fall of Overwatch, Scientist Sex, Teasing, more chapters to be added too, not all of them will contain smut
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-03-26
Updated: 2018-06-18
Packaged: 2019-04-08 06:01:15
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 21,744
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14098815
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BlueInkAlchemist/pseuds/BlueInkAlchemist
Summary: Doctor Angela Ziegler is torn. Is Moira O'Deorain a kindred spirit, or a modern Frankenstein? Will she be an asset to Overwatch, or will she make Blackwatch into something corrupt and uncontrollable? Does she keep Moira at arm's length, or succumb to the curiosity and desire in her heart? A story that begins one year before the Venice Incident.





	1. A Dangerous Method

**Author's Note:**

> Most relevant notes are at the end of Chapter 5. I know, I'm nefarious.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Nine years ago, Blackwatch recruited Moira O'Deorain. Overwatch kept her presence secret from the public while condemning her unethical practices. Angela Ziegler was aware of her, and just as concerned about her as she was intrigued. Especially when Jesse McCree voiced concerns of his own...

"It really don't set my mind at ease," Jesse was saying through the long-distance connection. "Reckon she's only going to cause trouble."

Angela Ziegler nodded. Her eyes moved over the scattering of paperwork on her desk. News of Omnic unrest in England. Reports on the effects long-range biotic repairs on armor could have on those wearing it, courtesy of Torbjörn Lindholm. He'd sent that along with a photo of his daughter, Brigette, playing in a public park with a cardboard shield and a crown that looked suspiciously like Reinhardt's distinctive helmet. A few other dossiers and breakdowns that Jack wanted her opinion on, but the voice on the other end of the phone was what took priority.

"Science isn't good or evil on its own," she said. "Have you seen any of her work already? I might have something here that..."

"This is me you're talkin' to, doc." Despite the concerns being addressed, there was a lightness in Jesse McCree's lackadaisical drawl that helped Angela feel a bit more at ease. "You know I ain't got much of a head for facts 'n' figures. Just goin' by my gut. An' my gut says: O'Deorain might be about as far from you in terms of good intent as one can get." There was a pause. "You know me an' Reyes ain't exactly the best o' friends, but the way that woman looks at him gives me the creeps."

"How do you mean?"

"It reminds me of how Cookie in the Deadlocks eyed up a choice steak while decidin' how t' cook it."

There was commotion on McCree's end of the line: shouted words like "cheating" and a few choice epithets. Chairs being knocked over. At least one gunshot.

"Jesse?"

"Gonna hafta call y' back, doc." The line went dead.

Angela placed her comm unit on her desk, in the midst of all of the bureaucracy and research that came with being one of the people charged with the management and direction of Overwatch. She sorted through some of it until she found the dossier that Reyes had handed her when he'd hired Moira onto his team. He'd made it clear that the Irish scientist would be working exclusively on projects for Blackwatch, steering clear of Ziegler's areas of medical oversight. "Closely monitored" were words the Blackwatch commander had used.

Angela, for her part, trusted Reyes about as far as she could throw him.

She got to her feet and began winding her way through the corridors of Overwatch's Swiss headquarters. She settled the white beret Ana had given her atop her head and adjusted the collar of her uniform. She had a responsibility, and the trust of Jack Morrison and those who looked to Overwatch for protection, to ensure ethical practices when it came to medicine and science. She didn't like Blackwatch existing at all, but if it was the 'necessary evil' both Jack and Reyes claimed it to be, there would be at least some shred of decency in it, even if Angela herself had to enforce it.

The ride in the lift felt longer than usual. O'Deorain had been set up with lab space somewhat removed from the rest of the headquarters, on the top floor of the remote west wing. When the doors parted, Angela was greeted by something unexpected: music, a lilting and calming tune played on uilleann pipes and Irish flutes with gentle harp accompaniment. The afternoon sun was beginning its drift towards the horizon, painting the white lab table surfaces with golden light and causing bright reflections from the glass beakers and Erlenmeyer flasks strewn about. At a small terminal in one corner, a shadow falling over her, Moira O'Deorain studied a DNA schematic, long fingers curled under her chin.

"Doctor Ziegler," she said, not looking in Angela's direction. "Do come in. You've come at a fortuitous time."

Angela's brows furrowed and, in spite of her trepidation, stepped forward. "How do you mean, Doctor O'Deorain?"

Formality, Angelia figured, couldn't hurt the situation at all.

"Take a look at this." Moira turned the display towards Angela and touched a control. A brief animation began. "It's merely a simulation, of course, but watch how the biotic particles affect the nucleotides of this strand."

A layperson may have been unable to follow the swirling light and dark lines as they weaved into and around one another, but Angela understood immediately. It was difficult for her to remember a time when she'd been so utterly shocked and so deeply intrigued at the same time. Her eyes moved from the screen to Moira. The geneticist was watching her, a twinkle in her left blue eye as the orange one seemed to burn slightly with anticipation.

"I'm very close now. Think of it: biological cells that regenerate just as quickly as they decay. You've done such wonderful work, fighting disease and slowing down the creeping reaper of age. This is the next step. What do you think?"

Angela struggled to find her voice. Her pulse had increased, though she was not entirely sure why. "I... It's a very impressive demonstration."

Moira smirked. She pushed the display aside and moved towards a nearby table. Her shoulder brushed against Angela's as she passed. It was only a moment of contact, but the touch was charged, like the opposing poles of two magnets sliding along one another. The lingering sensation of just that brief touch sent a shiver down Angela's spine.

"It's entirely theoretical, of course." An acidic tone crept into Moira's voice, sarcasm at its finest. "I wouldn't _dream_ of engaging in anything unethical while under the _benevolent_ roof of Overwatch. That'd be unthinkable." She paused. "Ní thuigeann an sách an seang."

Angela's eyes narrowed. "I'm not sure I understand why you're so angry."

"What're you on about?"

"In public, your research has been condemned. I have my own reservations about it. But consider, Doctor O'Deorain, that even if it cannot be acknowledged in public, we've provided you space and freedom to conduct your research. This is a place removed from prying eyes."

"Save for yours."

Moira hadn't looked up from the flasks and liquids to which she was attending. Angela paused, trying to read the other scientist's expression. "I..."

"I know why you came here. You don't want me making monsters. A huge, fleshy, inexorable version of the Omnic Crisis born right here in your beloved Switzerland." She set down the Erlenmeyer from which she'd been pouring, long fingers lingering on its neck, and finally looked up at Angela. "You're afraid of me."

Angela swallowed and lifted her chin. "Not of you, Moira. Of what you might create. I did not approve of Reyes and Blackwatch bringing you aboard. But that decision was taken from me. I will not let oversight of you be taken from me as well. Like it or hate it, I am here. And I will be watching over you. Do not violate the sanctity of a human body without my approval, or I will have you in front of an international ethics committee which will strip you of credentials and put you in prison so fast your head will spin clean off of your neck."

Moira stared at Angela for a long, silent moment. Without breaking eye contact, she began to move, slowly, towards Overwatch's head scientist. Angela felt transfixed by that stare, by those heterochromatic eyes, the sinuous movements of Moira's lithe, androgynous frame. The long lab coat she'd been wearing slid from her shoulders to be laid on the lab table. Her shirt, a deep plum color, was open at the collar, the knot of her silver tie resting just beneath her collarbone. In a moment, she was face to face with Angela again. Heat rose beneath Angela's uniform, and her mouth went dry.

"You're a beautiful hypocrite."

Moria's brogue was quiet and intimate, and it rolled over Angela's ears like a wave. A long finger gently lifted Angela's chin towards Moira's face, a touch that had both the comfort of good bedside manner and of the implied invasiveness of a well-sharpened scalpel.

"Look at you," Moira murmured. "You all but accuse me of being nothing short of a modern-day Frankenstein, yet here you stand, a testament to the power of experimentation upon the human form." Moira's other hand lifted to Angela's shoulder, then drifted down her arm to her wrist. "Your own body's been your laboratory. Some would claim that, in and of itself, is unethical. But look at these results." The touch of those fingernails moved to Angela's hip, up the curve of her side. More fingertips made themselves felt on Angela's jawline. "You can't have done these things and had this breathtaking a result, then cast stones on someone who wishes to make your brilliance shine all the clearer. We should be doing this together..."

Angela struggled to find the words to argue, to protest. She didn't necessarily see Moira as monstrously as the other scientist seemed to think, but words that strong might make her back off.

"We can't," Angela tried to begin. "We're in different divisions; I'm your superior, in a position of oversight, and—"

Before she could say anything more, Moira's lips brushed against hers, light as a feather, electric as a Tesla coil.

Nerve endings fired with machine-gun rapidity all throughout Angela's body. For a moment, her back arched and stiffened, and her knees threatened to disintegrate at the exact same time. A feeling unanticipated and largely unknown to her surged through the synapses of her brain as her pulse pounded in her ears. Breath seemed difficult to grasp, and as Moira's lips lingered and her tongue pressed, ever so gently, against Angela's mouth, the Swiss scientist felt that she might know what it felt like to drown in hot chocolate.

Angela wanted this. She didn't know why she wanted this. But she did.

For just a moment, Angela's lips quivered, and allowed Moira's tongue into her mouth. Angela's own tongue moved in reply, on instinctual auto-pilot, gliding alongside and curling around. Sweet taste sensations flooded her mind, a state like drunkenness clouding her senses, a screaming need within her making her wet and weakening her knees.

Moira hummed. It was practically a purr. It reverberated along Angela's tongue and down her spine and into her belly and trickling downward farther still and her panties were soaking and yes, yes, _please yes..._

But it was too fast.

Mercifully, Moira let Angela come up for air. Their mouths came apart, an inch between them now, and their eyes stared into one another, breath in both of them short. Moira watched her — patient, present, and just a little predatory.

"We can't," Angela breathed, finally finding her voice. "We can't."

"You keep saying that," Moira's lilting voice whispered in response. "But there's no truth in your voice. You know damn well we can. We're brilliant and beautiful. We'd be unstoppable."

Angela felt something inside of her twist. Not in disgust, or even overwhelming revulsion, as she'd anticipated. Yes, she knew Moira was unethical and driven to extremes towards which no scientist of merit would reach. Yes, she wanted no part of such radical experimentation, which could cost so much, up to and including human lives. 

Yet the appeal of the research's results was undeniable. To combat diseases, aging, poisons, and all sort of wounds on a micro-cellular level, to have that much power over the human body, which Moira had correctly pointed out had been Angela's greatest medium of success...

And then there was Moira herself, brilliant and dangerous, patiently waiting for Angela's consent while unashamedly naked in her desires...

Torn. She was torn. She found her body yearning for more of Moira's attention, that deliciously visceral touch, the taste of whiskey and coffee and sex and brilliance. She wanted to do what was right, to walk on the ethical side of the line, to let intellect and reason prevail over ambition and desire. She could acknowledge lust, for power and flesh both, on an intellectual level, and not indulge in them.

But oh, how she wanted to indulge.

Moira chuckled softly. "Oh, my dear Doctor Ziegler, the _state_ of you..."

Angela blinked. She forced herself to take a deep breath. Moira glanced down, watching Angela's chest swell with the inhalation, and then looked back into her eyes.

"I'm moving too fast for you. I know it can be too much for some. But I won't slow down." That lithe frame pressed against Angela's curves, the hand on her ribs applying slight pressure as it meandered down, down, down to her thigh. "You can run in the opposite direction, or you can challenge yourself to keep up. And would you be here, now, in charge of Overwatch's research, of MY research, if you hadn't challenged yourself, over and over again?" Moira moved her mouth to Angela's earlobe, breath wafting over the sensitive skin, her voice a lustful whisper. Her right hand crept towards the back of Angela's skull, long fingers slithering into her blonde hair, cradling, bringing her closer. "Go on. Tell me what you want. Be honest with yourself. Tell me how you want to experiment, to explore, to experience. Be brave, Doctor Ziegler. Take a chance. Go on."

Angela's breath came out in a soft sigh, an expression of an ache inside of her, the need to relieve the tension that coursed through her body. Yes, her instincts purred, yes — go for the throat of the science, plunge into the depths of all of the secrets, give in to your need for answers, for achievement, for appreciation of who you are and what you can do. Escape from the mundanity of the Overwatch bureaucracy and, if just for a single moment in time, lose just a fraction of the control you impose on yourself. Free yourself. Love yourself.

Deep down, Angela knew the honeyed words of that voice were the poison words of a liar.

Moira's deft and dastardly fingertips brushed with maddening gentleness against Angela's crotch, the slightest bit of pressure on the obstructing fabric, and it took every iota of Angela's self-control not to melt on the spot.

How long had it been since she'd been touched like this? How long since a hand other than her own had stolen such a moment, such a reaction? Chemicals bubbled in her brain, pleasure centers lighting up like Christmas trees in a cool Swiss winter's night. She moaned, in spite of herself. A soft, keening sound of need. Moira's teeth nipped playfully at her earlobe.

"Yes. Tell me. Now, with words. Tell me what you want, my sweet." 

Angela held up her hands, at first as if to surrender. She wanted... oh, how she _wanted..._

The hands came down, softly, on Moira's shoulders. She pushed. Not hard, not violently, but she pushed all the same.

Moira's own hands came down, held out at her sides, eyes on Angela's in a mix of disappointment and frustration and, strangely, quiet satisfaction. She got to me. She got under my skin. My skin and hers...

"I want it." Angela couldn't believe she was saying it out loud. "I do. But... not now. Not here. Not like this. It'd be wrong. It'd be unprofessional. It..."

"'The lady doth protest too much, methinks.'"

Angela made a face, a soft scowl that fought down a laugh, just at the out-of-nowhere absurdity of the Shakespeare. The scientist now at arm's length was absolutely ruining her, and much to her chagrin, she was enjoying it.

"I'm doing you the courtesy of being honest," Angela said. "I respect you, as a colleague, and a fellow scientist. And... I'd be lying if I said I wasn't..."

"Attracted? You can say it. That's mutual, darling. On both counts."

Angela's hands didn't move. Her grip tightened slightly. The list of Moira's ethical violations was probably as long as one of Angela's legs — she wanted Moira's hands on her hips and thighs again, right now, _right now_ — and yet there she stood, regarding Angela, ethical and rules-bound Angela, with respect.

"I will tell you this, though you may already know it." Moira's voice was a touch harder, now, but in a tone that was clearly for Angela's ears only. "When I want something, I pursue it, and I don't give up. And I want this just as much as you do. I want to bounce ideas off of you and collaborate and argue until the sun goes down. Then taste whiskey and wine and your sex until the sun comes back up again. I want you to know me. I want you to taste me in return. I want you to let yourself go. Unwind. Fly free."

Flight. The Valkyrie suit. She felt so free when she was aloft in the air, watching over those in need beneath her. Like she belonged in the sky. Like the earth couldn't hold her anymore. Light as a feather, without a care.

Moira made her feel that way, but with the inevitable pull of gravity as opposed to in defiance of it.

Angela let go of Moira, turned, and moved towards the elevator.

"This isn't over, my sweet."

There was no reply. Angela couldn't make one. She hit the button, and the doors parted. She stepped in and, in spite of herself, turned to face Moira.

Moira, for her part, touched long fingers to her lips, and blew a kiss softly in Angela's direction.

Angela's hand raised, fingertips on her lower lip before she realized she'd moved at all. The doors closed on Moira's satisfied, cat-like smile.

She collapsed against the back wall of the elevator as it descended, floors ticking by with soft chimes. The fingers at her lip trembled. What did she do now? She tried to back away from the moment, analyze it, apply logic and reasoning. What was Moira trying to accomplish with this? What was her motivation, her end goal? Did she hope that some sort of intimate relationship would distract Angela, or cause some sort of leeway in less ethical experiments?

The more terrifying thought to Angela was that Moira might be genuine.

Moira wanted something. The history of Moira spoke to wanting something more than a mere escapade with Angela, or some sort of collaboration on genetic manipulation. But in the moment? The look in Moira's eyes...

She couldn't do this alone. She needed help.

Jack? No. Jack would see it as some sort of breach of protocol. Judgments would be handed down, and Angela would take the brunt of it. Not Jack.

Angela didn't need an officer, a commander. She needed a friend.


	2. Called, and Answered

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Shaken in many ways by her encounter with Moira, Angela turns to a friend for assistance and advice. Immediately after leaving Moira's laboratory, she speeds to meet perhaps the only person in Overwatch that she can entirely trust...

_"Bring me another!"_

The raucous voice of the man at Angela's table rang off of the brass lanterns on the wall and the bottles behind the bar. It wasn't the small officer's mess in the Overwatch headquarters; indeed, this was several kilometers away from the entire compound. She needed the space. She'd changed her clothes, as well. Worn-out sneakers, comfortable jeans, an old t-shirt from medical school, a hooded sweatshirt. She was glad she'd been given the time to shed her uniform, which had suddenly felt so filthy, and come here to meet her friend.

Reinhardt, for his part, hadn't bothered to change.

He'd been in the rec center when Angela had called him, hence his tank top and loose athletic trousers. New inspiration to increase the weights he lifted on a daily basis had come from his last physical. Angela had never met someone so driven to keep pushing the limits of their bodies. Jack Morrison, after all, didn't have such limits anymore, thanks to his government's experimentations on him. The thought crossed her mind that Moira might have some interesting things to say about that particular...

Moira.

The thought of the Irish woman, her voice, her touch, caused everything in Angela's head to come to a screeching halt.

"Angela? You have not touched your pint!"

She blinked, and looked down at the frothy mug in front of her. She'd felt numb, all the way from base to the bar, and Reinhardt had done the ordering. The barmaid brought by another mug for Reinhardt, replacing the first, which he'd already gamely drained. She gave the large man a soft smile. He nodded, then turned back to the doctor seated across from him.

It took Angela another moment to find where she'd left her voice. "I have a lot on my mind."

"Well, let's have it! You would not have called me if it were not serious." Reinhardt's eyes narrowed. "Is Reyes acting a fool again? I swear, that man has too much spice in him. He's never forgiven Jack since he was passed over for command! Nevermind that the decision wasn't Jack's to make! Ah, these kids and their ambitions."

Angela shook her head. Blonde strands waved in her face, an indication to her that she was, in a way, unraveling. She needed a shower. A long, cold one.

"No, it isn't him." She bit her lip. "I don't know how much I can tell you. I..."

For a moment, she wanted to say this was a mistake, get up and walk out, go somewhere else, anywhere else. Confusion raged inside of her, and she felt simultaneously frozen in place and wanting to launch herself towards Horizon.

Reinhardt's massive paw-like hand came to rest on hers. For all of his power and ferocity in so many parts of his life, Reinhardt's touch was gentle and kind.

"Angela," he said softly, a tone she'd very rarely heard. "You can tell me anything. Your secrets will be safe with me."

She turned her eyes to him and smiled. "Even now, you will be my shield?"

"Always." His voice was grave, but he smiled, and there was a twinkle in his eye. He lifted his hand from hers, then leaned back and drank down his second pint. He wiped the froth from his white beard with the back of his bare arm and let out a long sigh.

Angela raised her own mug to her lips and sipped. She wasn't one for alcohol under most circumstances; she tended to spend her nights going over reports, medical journals, dossiers, so on and so forth. An occasional glass of wine, especially if she was indulging in a bath. The brown ale that Reinhardt had ordered for them was heavier than Angela was used to, and while she didn't find the flavor disagreeable, she intended to moderate her intake as carefully as possible. She'd already taken one risk too many today.

"Are you familiar with the name Moira O'Deorain?"

"Isn't she..." Reinhardt's brow furrowed, parsing his memory. "Ah! I remember. She's a scientist, like you!"

Angela shook her head ruefully. "I'm afraid that she's nothing like me, _lieber freund_." She paused. "Well... 'nothing' is slightly harsh. She's brilliant, to be certain. And we're in similar fields, so there is an amount of.. professional courtesy I feel compelled to extend. And she's fascinating. Her mind works in these ways that... it's hard to describe..."

She looked towards the bar, the flat screens above it showing soccer games and other athletic competition from around the world. "I think that, if things hadn't turned out the way they had, she and I might have been colleagues before Overwatch. To read her papers, it's obvious that she's just as curious and creative as she is driven. Her conclusions are radical, her methods unethical – bordering on diabolical. In a word, she's dangerous. Yet there's clear vision in her experiments and goals, and an undeniable devotion to scientific discovery for its own sake. That's admirable, and I can understand it." She rested her chin on one hand, the other on the handle of her mug. "And that was before I'd met her in person."

Reinhardt let out a soft chuckle. Angela cocked an eyebrow and turned her eyes to him.

"What's funny?"

"Oh, I'm not laughing at you, Doctor." The barmaid brought by Reinhardt's third pint, and he winked at her as she headed to her next table. "I merely remember being young and in love."

Heat rose to Angela's face so fast she feared for a second she might pass out. "I am _not_ in love! There's nothing... nothing romantic about what I'm feeling. I..." She took a deep breath, then a long sip of beer, before dropping her voice and leaning towards Reinhardt. "I met her today. She's working with Blackwatch."

Reinhardt's eyes narrowed, the blue of his unblemished eye flashing in the bar's low light. "So it _is_ a Reyes problem." His usual boisterousness was gone, replaced by grim determination. "Is this O'Deorain a threat to the organization? You should tell Morrison if she's as dangerous as you say."

"No. At least, I don't think she is. Anyway, I didn't go to Jack. I called _you._ "

Reinhardt Wilhelm was many things. He was a powerful warrior, a bearer of more scars than most would be able to endure, and an honorable man. There were those that might have dismissed him, with his loud manner and oversized power armor, as being dim-witted or slow. But that was something he most certainly was not. It took a moment, but gradually, his expression softened and, in a way that made Angela relax, he began to quietly laugh.

"All right, _Mäuschen_. Perhaps you should start at the beginning."

Angela spared him the details of how her encounter with Moira had affected her physically, and the lingering feelings and desires that still chased one another like over-excited weasels in the enclosure of her head. All the same, she told him of how she'd gone to that remote lab, her intent to keep watch on Moira's research, and Moira's offer to make her a partner in bleeding-edge scientific endeavors. He listened closely, not interrupting or interjecting, nursing his beer rather than downing it. Finally, her mouth dry, she took a sip of her own drink, and shook her head.

"I so rarely meet someone in my field, let alone someone who is so clearly unconventional. There's an argument to be made about merely repeating and building upon the work of other scientists, first to replicate results before improving upon them. Moira, she is more interested in making her own mark, breaking new ground."

"Yet she spoke often of your own experiments in positive terms, did she not?"

Angela blinked. Reinhardt was smiling at her.

"Perhaps she is not as unorthodox as you say! She has an appreciative eye for the great work you've done. She wishes to be a partner of yours in continuing your work. Would it save more lives, Angela? Would it defeat more diseases?"

Her brow furrowed. "Are you saying 'the ends justify the means'?"

Reinhardt guffawed. "You know full well I learned _that_ lesson some time ago!" He touched the scar over his vacant eye. "What I am saying is that while you must consider what this O'Deorain would gain out of working with you, you should also consider what _you_ would gain working with _her_. Not only that! If she is that interested in your experiments and methods, perhaps she'd be amenable to other lessons from you as well! Perhaps you could be a good influence on her, yes?"

"I... I see what you're trying to say, but I don't see her as someone in need of 'saving' or 'fixing'. She's a scientist. She makes her choices, she accepts the consequences. It's the fact that she doesn't _care_ about consequences that makes me hesitate."

The former Crusader waved a hand. "Ah, forgive my phrasing if it offended. You are adults, you can make your own decisions. But this one has you in knots, _Mäuschen_." He set down his mug to gesture with his hands on the table, dividing things into two sides. "On the one hand, here is an intellectual equal, a collaborator in your field of expertise, someone who can speak your language of science far more eloquently than, oh, say, some bumbling old fool of an adventurer who's head is still full of knightly tales!"

Angela smirked and touched the hand in question. "You're far from a fool, _lieber freund_. But go on."

Reinhardt grinned. "On the other hand, you swore an oath to protect, to heal, to do no harm. Dangerous work in science that does not care for consequences is just like a foolish warrior who seeks only glory and the wind in their hair." His expression turned brittle. Angela knew that the conversation was bringing up memories of Eichenwalde and the moment where Reinhardt, the cavalier Crusader, had become Reinhardt, the Shield of Overwatch. There was pain and grief, even now, in the aging man's eyes. 

Her hand took hold of his. When she did, it was as if he was pulled back into the present moment, and he went on. "You must be careful, Angela, especially for your own sake. You can learn lessons from this, to be certain, but the cost of it could be high."

"I know. That's why I'm so torn. The appeal and the attraction are something that I'd be foolish and dishonest to deny. I don't know when the last time was that I felt something — " _wanted someone_ " — this much." She gave her friend a wry look. "I _have_ been in love before, you know. I remember how that feels. This is... well, it's something else."

After a nod, Reinhardt finished off his pint. "Well, then. It sounds like you have a great deal of evidence! Arguments both for and against. You are one of the most intelligent people I've ever had the honor to meet, work with, and defend in battle. I know you will make a sound decision. And I believe, with all of my heart, that you deserve to find happiness, in whatever ways you need it. And know this: whatever decision you make will have my support."

Angela found herself blushing, and she looked down at her beer mug. "I... thank you. The way this... this unhinged maverick makes me feel, it... I'm worried that it makes me a bad person."

At that, Reinhardt laughed. "If _you_ are a bad person, Doctor Ziegler, there is no hope for any of us poor fools at all! Come, come, enough of that talk. If you _were_ a bad person, we would not be sitting here together! You would not be asking so many questions! You are carefully considered, endlessly compassionate, and brilliant and beautiful atop all of it." He sighed. "Ah, if only I'd met you as a younger man."

She was still holding his hand, and she gave it a squeeze. "I might have talked you into wearing a helmet more often."

For a moment, the look on his face made her blood run cold. Had she gone too far, said too much that touched on a bad memory? But then, he squeezed her hand back and he closed his eyes and shook his head with a smile. "I could have done with more positive influences, to be sure. Perhaps you would have shown me more careful ways to live. Then again, perhaps I would have ignored your advice. Or worse! I might have treated you badly. No, no." He waved at the barmaid. "Better that we are the friends we are now." He lifted her hand to his lips and kissed her knuckles gently before letting go. His facial hair was soft, not bristly like some beards she'd encountered in the past, and it put her heart at ease.

"Thank you, Reinhardt. I knew I was right to call you."

Reinhardt grinned. The barmaid came by with yet another pint for him, and he looked at Angela with a smirk and a twinkle in his eye.

"I'm thinking currywurst. Would you like currywurst, _Mäuschen_?"

The stomach that had been in at least three separate knots completely untangled itself and made a gurgling sound that indicated _yes, absolutely, currywurst, please and thank you._

Angela nodded, then got to her feet. "I would, Reinhardt. I need to use the bathroom. I'll be right back."

"Don't be too long! Our attentive and wonderful attendant here might steal me away."

As the barmaid laughed, Angela touched Reinhardt's shoulder and leaned over to kiss his cheek. She then walked into the bathroom and, as the door closed behind her, turned to look into the mirror.

Her hair was entirely out of sorts. It wasn't sticking out in all directions, but she was clearly as disorganized in her follicles as she was in her feelings. She'd quickly washed her face before leaving HQ, so there was no makeup to be smeared and running. Her blue eyes still seemed somewhat haunted by her encounter with Moira, but there was a brightness in them now, a centering, a sense of purpose and determination.

The next time she was in the same room with Moira O'Deorain, the Irishwoman wouldn't find Angela Ziegler so pliable to her will.


	3. "Tell Me How This Feels"

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In the two years since their initial meeting in Moira's lab, the Venice Incident has occurred, after which Moira O'Deorain was disavowed by Overwatch. Angela has been in touch with her, but with Overwatch intervening in the King's Row Uprising, the doctor has more pressing matters on her mind at the moment...

Angela Ziegler always found a particular sort of solace and calm when she was in her medical lab. To others, the work surfaces around her were a haphazard mess. But to her eye, everything was in its place, from the files pertaining to the King's Row Uprising to the box of Swiss chocolates Genji had gotten for her while they'd been in the field. As much as her Valkyrie suit didn't hinder her or weigh her down, there was something about being back in jeans and her Overwatch turtleneck that felt far more comfortable.

The day after a mission tended to be a bit rough. Considering how long it had been since she'd been in out there, let alone the thick of combat, part of Angela was impressed that she was still alive. Staying behind Reinhardt had helped, of course, and for all of her inexperience, Cadet Oxton hadn't put any of them in additional or unnecessary danger. She had good instincts, that one.

"Cheers! What's up, Doc?"

Angela said, smiling as she turned. "Your timing is fantastic. I was just thinking about you, Lena."

With a giggle, Lena Oxton disappeared from where she was standing in the doorway and reappeared right next to Angela.

"How's my vitals looking? You said you'd want to go over them when we got back!"

"Yes, Cadet, I did." Angela touched a nearby tablet and pulled up the relevant file, swiping her fingers to move it to a display where she and Lena could see it easily. "I know that the chronal accelerator is Winston's creation, and its mechanics are his area of expertise. But in terms of your body, and the toll this technology could take..." She opened the kit of diagnostic tools on one side of her desk and removed the extractor. "Now, this might be difficult, but... hold still."

Getting the gist, Lena rolled up her sleeve. "Here ya go!"

Gently, Angela rubbed her thumb against Lena's skin, finding a good vein. She put the extractor in place, and there was a soft click and hiss. The cadet made a face. Angela held the extractor with one hand, locking a vial into the back of the device with the other. Once the vial was filled with blood, Angela removed the device and gave Lena a nod. 

"This was your first mission," Angela said as she gave the vial a shake and turned to the table behind her to place it in the analyzer. "As hard as you've been training, the stresses of live combat are very different from simulations, or even sparring with Genji."

"But he always pushes me so hard!" Lena rolled her eyes. "All his talk about 'honor' and 'sacrifice' and..." She sighed. "I know he means well and all, but it's always so... serious!"

"Combat _is_ serious. Especially when it's up close and personal. We don't always have the advantage of being airborne. When we get into the thick of things, we have to make sure our condition is up to the task. I'm glad Genji is pushing you to your limits in training. He is pushing himself, as well. He has a lot of work still to do, to adapt to his own condition." _And not all of it is physical._ "That's one of the reasons Winston and I paired you up. Speaking of which, he might not have been in King's Row yesterday, but he _is_ overdue for a check-up."

The analyzer chimed, and Angela summoned the updated report. "Well! Your metabolism and physical cohesion remain steady. It looks like the stress of combat didn't have an adverse affect on you."

"Thanks! Winston said the same thing about the accelerator." Lena tapped the white machine with the glowing blue core that was strapped to her chest. "Speaking of the big guy, it sounds like he and Reinhardt want to go celebrate! Want to come?"

Angela smiled. "I would, but I have a lot of work to finish here. I appreciate the invitation, and might join you later. Tell Reinhardt not to eat too much currywurst; I'd rather not have to deal with the indigestion in the morning."

"Currywurst?"

"Ask him. He'll be happy to explain."

With a grin, Lena Oxton sketched Angela a quick salute and was gone with a flash. Shaking her head at the exuberance of Overwatch's newest member, Angela turned back to her files and reviews.

Her personal comm chimed, alerting her to the delivery of a direct message. She glanced at it, then turned and stared, the print-out regarding Reinhardt's physical condition falling from her hand.

_**geneSidhe:** It's good to know everything is where I left it._

Angela Ziegler didn't curse very often. But in that moment, under her breath, she swore like Torbjörn when one of his turrets failed to track a target properly.

She found herself wishing for Tracer's speed as she all but ran from her own lab towards the west wing. She was glad, at least, that she'd opted for sneakers as opposed to anything with heels. Her comm chimed again, and she gave it a glance as she got into the lift.

_**geneSidhe:** It would be lovely to see you, but I can't stay long. Just picking something up._

Moments later, the lift doors opened, revealing the lab and its sheet-covered tabletops and exam tables. The lights were out, save for a small flashlight that threw back the late afternoon sunlight coming through the half-opened blinds. Moira O'Deorain stood in front of a small locker, dressed in civilian clothes — a dark skirt with a slit on the right side, mid-calf boots, a maroon button-down with a silver tie, and an overcoat. Like she’d come from some sort of party and stopped by on a whim. She smiled as she laid the light down and reached into retrieve a black beret, emblazoned with the Blackwatch logo.

"I think this might be a little conspicuous," she said, adjusting it as she put it on her head. She turned to Angela with a smile. "Still, after a year, I have to admit I missed it."

"You can't be here," Angela replied, the doors closing behind her as she stalked into the lab. "You're disavowed."

"Yet, here I am." Moira shrugged. "And here you are, as well. What would Commander Morrison say, I wonder, if he knew how you carried on with someone as disenfranchised as myself?" She laid the tips of her right hand's nails on her chest. Those nails were longer than those on her left hand, and colored a dark lavender that matched vein-like — tattoos? scars? — that wound up her arm towards her elbow. "Oh, the scandal!"

Angela narrowed her eyes. "We've done nothing but exchange professional opinions on pertinent medical matters. We have no personal association." She tried not to notice, let alone mention, the way Moira's right hand put her on edge. What has she done to herself?

Moira put on a hurt expression. "Isn't your oath 'do no harm?' You wound me to the quick. I thought we had a connection."

"I entertain your e-mails out of professional courtesy."

"And personal curiosity."

Heat rose under the collar of Angela's turtleneck. "I asked you to keep our relationship _professional_ when you came here, after we... met."

"And I agreed." Moira kept her gaze on Angela. It was hard to get a read on the emotions behind her orange and blue eyes, especially in the low light. "I will admit, I entertained hope that the more we spoke, via e-mail and in person, you might come around to another way of thinking. You're not stupid. You know there's something here between us." There was a pause, and Angela saw Moira's jawline twitch. "Or at least, there was."

A fresh knot tied itself in Angela's stomach. Those last five words seem to crash into the atmosphere in the room like Reinhardt's hammer. "Moira..."

For a moment, neither of them said anything. Then, Moira picked up her light and walked over to one of the cabinets. "Well, don't worry. I won’t be an imposition for long, Doctor. I left behind some hand-written notes and small items of experimental interest when they moved Blackwatch to its own headquarters in Rome all those years ago. Now that I find myself on my own once again, I'd like to be able to pick up where I left off in some of my more personal projects."

"I can't let you do that," Angela said, approaching. "Everything in this room belongs to Overwatch."

"Spare me the sanctimonious prattle," Moira bit back, all warmth in her voice gone. "Overwatch was _waiting_ for an opportunity to silence me completely, especially since Reyes brought me on board. And then Venice happened, and _you_ stood by and did _nothing_ as Morrison and the rest cast me out."

"I never disavowed you." Every step Angela took stoked anger and sorrow and regret inside of her. "I had my concerns, yes, but to have another scientist with us who wasn't stuck at some Ecopoint with whom I could collaborate? I can't tell you how much I wanted you to stay, Moira. I _told_ you such the first time I wrote to you after Venice."

Moira didn't say anything, but continued to sort through the cabinets. A few folders plopped onto the workbench behind her, sending up a small cloud of dust. Angela ignored it, eyes narrowing at the Irishwoman.

"Have you grown so cold, so bitter in the last year, that you've _completely_ forgotten that?"

"Let me _tell_ you what I remember."

As Moira whirled to face Angela, the container she'd been taking from the cabinet slipped out of her left hand, striking the edge of the workbench and shattering. The contents, a sticky-looking indigo substance, spattered onto her right hand, which immediately froze, her fingers curling into claw-like hooks. Drops of the material also struck Moira's exposed right thigh, immediately darkening the skin where it touched her. Moira bit back a scream, grasping her right forearm with her left hand, quickly backing away from the spill.

Angela's instincts seized her. She leapt forward, all but flying over the toxic puddle on the floor, hands dipping into the small medical kit she kept in her lab coat at all times while at headquarters. Her eyes told her a confusing but potent story: whatever the material was, the result of some experiment of Moira's, it was interacting with the changes Moira had made to her right hand, causing tremors in her muscles and constriction of her blood vessels. Without help, the limb might atrophy and become useless, right before their eyes. And there was no telling what it would do to her leg.

"Get away from me!"

Moira's voice was a strained thing, a rasp and a warning, the protestation of someone who could and would kill if it suited her purposes.

Angela ignored her.

An anesthetic injection was first, the drug washing over Moira's pain receptors. A muscle relaxant followed, causing a similar reaction in the ligaments. The hand went limp. Angela grabbed the corner of a cloth covering a nearby mass spectrometer and pulled. It had been tucked under the machine on one side for some asinine reason; the cloth tore loudly, and Angela set about wiping the material off of Moira's skin, both her hand and her thigh, careful not to get any on herself.

"We need to get this coat off," she said, putting the medical tools aside to reach up for Moira's shoulders. Moira's face was full of indignation and another emotion Angela thought might be embarrassment, if O'Deorain would ever admit to having such a feeling. Still, Moira helped Angela remove the coat. Letting it drop to the lab floor, Angela helped Moira back up towards an examination table, configured in a sitting position. Angela snatched the cover from it and eased Moira down.

"Now, let's see." Angela took Moira's right wrists in her hands, producing a small light of her own from the medical kit. "Tell me where it hurts."

Moira growled, very softly. Angela looked up and, for a moment, was frozen in place. The Irishwoman was angry, yes, and in pain. But this was the first time they had been anywhere near this close in years, and both of them remembered the last encounter they'd had in this very lab. Angela tried to regain her focus on the triage, rather than the proximity of the red-haired scientist, the feel of her, the smell of her...

"Vascular dilator," Moira told her, her voice still taut. "Behind you, second drawer."

With a nod, Angela turned and threw back the workbench's cover to pull open the drawer. There were several medical devices inside, and she determined which one she needed at a glance. Turning, she applied the dilator to Moira's right wrist. After a moment, she watched as the veins of Moira's forearm and right hand seemed to swell and take on a slightly luminescent quality. Moira let out a soft sigh, and Angela took that as a good sign. She turned her attention to the right leg, lifting the fabric of the skirt away as far as she could. She turned to the open drawer and picked up an anti-inflammatory applicator. Her left hand moved gently under Moira's knee, lifting the leg so that she could better access the burns.

"What I remember..." Moira took a deep breath as the applicator soothed her pain and addressed the nasty burns. "I remember that when they spoke against me, you did not speak for me." Her eyes opened slowly, fixing Angela with their heterochromatic gaze. "You didn't call for my exile, but neither did you take my side."

"It shouldn't _be_ about sides," Angela said quietly. "It was supposed to be about saving people, fighting back against terror and destruction... and using science to make lives better."

"Stop 'should'ing all over yourself," Moira hissed through a wince as the applicator pressed against one of her remaining burns. "Whatever your intent was, whatever the politics, you made a choice that hurt me. I've carried this scar for a year. You inflicted it on me. We had a connection, and you made a dog's breakfast of it."

Angela paused in what she was doing, turning her feelings and the words of Moira over in her mind. She lowered her head, and brushed her cheek slowly against the tender skin of Moira's thigh. "I know I hurt you. I'm sorry that I did so. And, if it helps, I hope you know that... in spite of everything... I've missed you."

Silence settled into the abandoned lab. The fading sunlight beyond the shuttered windows darkened the space. Angela worried that she'd said too much, was feeling too much.

Then, she felt Moira's hand on her head, gentle and tentative.

"I've missed you as well, Doctor Ziegler."

Angela turned her head and began laying kisses on Moira's thigh. "Heroes never die. Neither do their hearts."

Moira sighed softly. "We were torn apart. Will you risk it happening again?"

In reply, Angela's lips moved one kiss at a time up Moira's skin. Her right hand slid under the fabric of Moira's skirt, taking hold of the ankle that rose into her grip. Moira squirmed, not in resistance, but in anticipation. Long fingers curled into Angela's hair, and the doctor felt for the first time something beyond mere tactile stimulation in those fingertips. As her lips reached the junction of leg and body, the sensation washed through her, and she struggled to stay in the moment.

"Angela." Moira's voice was soft, a low murmur. "You don't owe me this."

"I want this." The words spilled out of Angela as her right hand moved gently under the skirt. "Don't you?"

"I've wanted you for years." Relief and lust twined into and around one another when Moira spoke. "I knew I had to have you."

"Well... here I am."

Angela's fingers slid towards the soft cloth that kept her kisses from Moira's growing wetness. Fingertips pushed that fabric aside, and she tasted Moira's desire for the first time. Moira writhed and moaned softly, increasing her grip on Angela's hair. Angela felt a very soft and gentle lash as Moira's unbound tie fluttered down across them both; then she heard the buttons of Moira's shirt popping. She looked up to see Moira's left hand deftly opening the front closure of her bra, all but yanking it away from her body, desire overwhelming the scientist's mind. For her part, Angela felt drunk, her head swimming in endorphins and anticipation.

Angela's tongue pressed slowly against Moira's sex. She dragged it slowly upwards, and slid the tip against Moira's clit. Back and forth, back and forth, she teased and tasted the scientist. Moira bit her lip as her left hand pulled away more of her shirt, groping and fondling her breast wantonly. Angela closed her eyes, sighing into Moira. She traced her tongue all around Moira's pussy, then very gently licked one of those sweet lips, then the other. Her mouth returned to Moira's clit, her tongue coaxing its hood upwards. For a moment, she increased the pressure of her teeth, and she was rewarded with a surprised squeak. The taste coating her tongue, Angela's mouth released that sweet flesh, and then her fingers stroked it before beginning to spread it.

“Was that too much?” Angela’s movements slowed, became more gentle. She took a deep breath, trying not to push forward too eagerly, despite her own arousal soaking her panties, every nerve in her body screaming for release. “Too hard? Do you want more, Moira?”

Moira muttered in Gaelic, grasping Angela's hair, her right breast now bared as her fingertips teased and tweaked her nipple. Angela took that as a “yes, of course I do!” as she slid her fingers into Moira. Her tongue returned to Moira's clit, again flicking and sucking. She gave herself completely to her delicious task, twisting and parting her fingers within Moira. The scientist writhing on the chair moaned loudly, beginning to gasp for hair, hips undulating. Angela breathed in through her nose, the scent of Moira's sex making her head swim, her hand rhythmically thrusting in and out. 

"Fuck..." Moira's voice was thick, forcing its way out of trembling lips. "Fuck me, Angela. Fuck me..."

Angela's fingertips pressed upwards, moving in tiny circles against some of the most sensitive nerves in Moira's entire body. Her tongue and lips were unrelenting, demanding Moira's orgasm through her clitoris. Moira gripped herself and Angela's head hard, hips rising as she cried out, pressing herself into Angela's face as she came. Flesh clamped down on Angela's fingers, convulsing as Moira's thigh muscles tensed, wave after wave of pleasure coursing through one body into the other, until Angela had a moment in which she wondered where hers ended and Moira's began. Then, she leaned back to sit on the floor, taking deep breaths as she slowly licked her lips. Moira did not release her hair, even as she lay on her back, also struggling to catch her breath.

"I... I really needed that." Moira's voice was quiet, and far less bitter than it had been. Slowly, she got up onto her elbows, looking down at Angela and smiling. "I think you need a little, too. On a scale of one to ten... how soaked are you?"

As she sat on the floor, her legs spread, Angela moved her hand slowly into her jeans. She closed her eyes and bit her lip as her fingertips stroked her own sex, then emerged to show, in the wan sunlight, how they glistened. Without breaking eye contact, with a coy smile, Angela slowly dragged her tongue along her fingers, a low hum coming from her throat, telling her lover, without words, how badly she wanted her turn. Moira raised her right hand, with its softly luminous veins and long fingernails, and crooked a single finger.

Angela rose and approached.

That was when her comm chimed.

"Doctor Ziegler?" The voice was Genji's. "We had an appointment for a check-up. Where are you?"

Moira reached out and took Angela's wrist. It was Moira's turn to keep her eyes locked on Angela's. She very slowly slid her tongue against Angela's fingertips. Angela's free hand shook. She took a deep breath, and found her mind full of static and lust. Moira let her eyes flutter shut and moaned around Angela's fingers, sucking them into her mouth.

"Doctor Ziegler? Are you alright?"

Pulling Angela's fingertips free, Moira smirked. "Well?" Her murmur was thick and rich, like molten chocolate. "Are you?"

Angela's mind raced. While Genji did require regular check-ups, he had adapted very well to his cybernetic enhancements over the past year, and letting an appointment go wouldn't be a huge detriment to his progress. At the same time, he already sounded worried, and following up to find out where she was and what she was doing could be disastrous if the disavowed Moira was discovered on the premises. Her sense of duty and propriety railed against her desires and longing, and she was once again on the brink of being torn in two.

Reluctantly, eyes still on Moira, Angela used her free hand to fish out her comm unit.

Reluctantly, eyes still on Moira, Angela used her free hand to fish out her comm unit.

"I was reading and drifted off into a nap, Genji," she said, struggling to control her voice. "I'll be there shortly."

She set the unit aside, watching Moira's face go from anticipation to disappointment to amusement.

"Always the guardian angel."

"If they came looking for me, they'd find you."

"Afraid they might walk in on us while I'm fucking you?"

Angela couldn't help but smile and shake her head. "I think you'd get a little too much enjoyment out of that."

Disheveled and mischievous, Moira sat up a bit more and leaned towards Angela. "Only one way to find out."

Angela smiled, getting a bit closer herself, then reached up and started rearranging Moira's clothes towards their former state, despite the shirt now missing a few buttons. "Another time. For now, I have work to do. And you should get what you came for and head out before you're found by someone who isn't this attracted to you."

Moira cocked her head. "Such a person exists?"

Angela laughed, taking a step back. "I'm glad I found you here, Moira. I really have missed you."

"Likewise." Moira returned to the cabinets around the room. "I will try to tone down the content of my emails, if you find them so distracting."

"And in case anybody else finds them. You never know who might be trying to hack you."

Moira shook her head, then adjusted her beret. "Until we meet again, Doctor. You'd best be going."

Angela smiled, and headed out of the lab. As she made her way back towards her office, and the rest of Overwatch, she tried to put her unfulfilled desires aside and focus on the tasks at hand. Still, she knew that somewhere behind her, Moira was quietly going about her business, gathering materials to further her research and, in her own way, undermining Angela's resolve.

Angela shook her head and rubbed her temples.

_I can't throw myself into that woman's arms. The best thing I can do is throw myself into my work instead._


	4. No Excuse For The State I'm In

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Five years after the King's Row Uprising. Three years after the UN hearing that disbanded Overwatch. One year since beginning to work out of Oasis. This is where we find Doctor Angela Ziegler, trying to forget her many regrets, frustrations, and missed opportunities. Perhaps, she thinks, she can distract herself at a masquerade ball on Halloween for the scientific elite…

_Dear Doctor Ziegler,_

_I hope you can forgive me, as it has been some time since I have written you. I will admit, I was surprised to receive your last letter from Oasis. Before then, you had seemed content in your native Switzerland. I hope you are finding it as suited to your research as you had indicated it promised to be, and that you will continue to travel to give aid to those in need._

_Part of the reason it has been so long since my last letter is that I had not settled on a home, and thus did not want to take the chance of missing the next one you sent to me. That has changed. I think you will be happy to learn that I have found a place for which I am suited. At first, I was not sure what to make of the monk Tekhartha Zenyatta. Considering how long I railed against becoming more machine than man, an entire machine being was repulsive to me. Yet he continues to speak to me in kind ways that remind me of you, and what’s more, he has offered me housing and guidance. Against my better judgement, I have accepted. I do not know how long I will be here, but hopefully, I will receive your next letter before I move on._

_When Overwatch was disbanded, very few of us had any solid idea of what would come next. I can picture some of our colleagues in a world without Overwatch. The cowboy is probably lost in a bottle somewhere; Reinhardt is searching for his next quest to complete in glory; Tracer, trying to live a normal life which ultimately will not suit her. Others cross my mind, but ultimately I come back to you. You have never faltered from your goal of making the world a better and safer place. Your compassion stands out in a world too often overcome by selfish ambitions and foolishness. I am sure that, by working in Oasis, you are still working towards that goal._

_I realize this has become much longer than I intended. I apologize. I do hope that this finds you well, and that you will write back soon. Please tell me how you find Oasis. I may come visit someday._

_I remain your friend and ever thankful for your help.  
Genji_

* * *

The pieces of paper felt delicate, their contents rare. Angela read over the words, written in Genji’s uncertain hand, for what was probably the fifth or sixth time. He did seem more confident in using an instrument like a quill, which he had included for her as the means to write back. His cybernetic fingers had not crushed the instrument, and none of the carefully folded pages had been torn. It was good progress, and Angela felt a tinge of pride knowing that somewhere out in the wide world, Genji was continuing to heal. 

This letter was definitely his longest by far, at least until this point. Angela had grown used to the kind but terse way in which Genji tended to communicate. Now, there was more of a flow to his words, both in the writing and in their content. In the past, when he’d been attached to Blackwatch, Genji had been far less expressive, lacking a sort of confidence in himself to communicate in a manner like the letter in Angela’s hands.

“Excuse me, Doctor Ziegler.” The gentle, slightly hollow voice of the omnic chauffeur drifted back to where she sat in the limousine. “We have arrived.”

Angela folded up the letter. She reached to her left, opening the book that was part of her costume. Her gloved fingers moved over the ‘Vitae’ inscription to unclasp the cover, trading Genji’s letter for the engraved invitation that had drawn her out into the warm Oasis night.

It, along with Genji’s letter, had been waiting for Angela after she returned from her mission to the United States, touring aid stations and medical facilities throughout the Midwest. While there hadn’t been a precipitous crisis to take her there, the state of things had definitely demanded the sort of resources Oasis could provide, and Angela’s expertise in teaching the caregivers in how to use them. She had, indeed, been content in Switzerland when Tariq al-Bashir, the Minister of Biology, approached her with an offer. Oasis wanted her to assist in medical research in exchange for an exponential increase in the amount of capital and resources at her disposal for her humanitarian work. Since she spent most of her time on the move, it hadn’t really mattered to Angela where her ‘base of operations’ was, and as fond as she was of her native country, Oasis provided a new environment and several interesting opportunities, such as this event.

_The Vishkar Corporation  
is pleased to cordially invite_

_ANGELA ZIEGLER, M.D.  
Oasis Ministry of Biology_

_to a Masquerade Ball  
at the Abu Hassoun Gardens_

The Minister had mentioned to Angela that Vishkar representatives were making inquiries as to hosting an event at the Gardens. Since the Ministry of Biology had been instrumental in the creation of such an essential Oasis landmark, they put anyone looking to make use of the Gardens for such an event through an extensive vetting process. As much as such a thing sounded like a bureaucratic nightmare, the timing could not have worked out better for Vishkar. What better time to throw a masquerade ball than on Halloween?

Angela closed the book and looked up as an omnic valet opened the door of the limousine. She stepped out of the vehicle, making sure to retrieve her pointed hat from the back seat and to thank the chauffeur. The Gardens were illuminated with holographic candlelight, with free-floating chandeliers held aloft in anti-gravity fields and smaller sconces closer to the walls. There were already a number of figures within the Gardens, milling about, conversing, a few of them even dancing. Angela, for her part, headed towards the long table of refreshments, and the omnic bartender who was situated at the far end.

The costumes within the garden were incredibly colorful and diverse, but the event was somewhat low-key and subdued. Oasis was a place of scientific and economic pioneering and discovery, and while there were certainly wilder members of the society to be found, it seemed that Vishkar had mostly invited those in positions of leadership or prominence to the ball. Angela recognized a few of her colleagues from the Ministry of Biology, who seemed to had agreed on some sort of ‘Great Gatsby’ theme to their costumes. A few of them looked in her direction, puzzled or intrigued by her attire. She smiled at them and, as she’d seen Jesse McCree do so many times, tipped her hat in their direction.

Her shoes, with their buckles and curled toes, clicked on the flagstones as she stepped up to the bartender. Omnics did not have expressions as such, but the voice of the tuxedo-wearing sentient robot was warm and welcoming.

“Good evening! I am Mixologist-221. Please, call me Mix. What can I do for you?”

Angela tapped a finger on her chin. The visible bottles on the shelf behind the bartender were of a variety of liqueurs — cognac, whiskey, rum, gin, even things like Absinthe — but the wine selection seemed a little thin in on the ground. Of course, chilled wines would not be placed out in the open of the dry Oasis air...

“I’m looking for a wine,” she told Mix. “Something like a moscato, but more off-dry. Do you have anything in that vein?”

The Omnic’s response was immediate. Mix turned their body while their head stayed in place, and they opened one of the cabinet doors under the display shelves. Angela could see several bottles laying on their sides within, the light in the back shining through the waft of cold air released when the door was opened. Mix removed one of the bottles and turned its label towards Angela for examination.

“I have this Gewürztraminer in the style of a pre-Crisis Alsatian that might be to your liking.”

Angela smiled.

“That would be perfect. Thank you.”

Mix, bobbing in place as if quite pleased with themselves, produced a stemmed glass with with a short bowl and a slightly flared tip. Angela nodded in approval. The label on the wine put its vintage as very young, no more than two years. She took the glass with another ‘thank you’ and moved away to allow others to enjoy Mix’s attentive service.

The wine was, in fact, perfect. Another Omnic, this one a floating waiter, glided by bearing a tray holding several toasted triangles of naan topped with dollops of what appeared to be hummus. Angela took one, and found its taste savory, the flavors of garlic and tahini balanced. The sip of the Gewürztraminer was an excellent pairing. Tension began to leave Angela’s shoulders for what felt to be the first time in months.

Her work with the Ministry of Biology had been taking up so much of her time that she’d barely gotten a glance of her new home since moving to it. She was doing a good deal of miniaturization technology, making diagnostic and restorative tools more compact and easier to carry. Her Caduceus staff, safely stowed in a large road case under her bed with her Valkyrie suit and other Overwatch equipment, could work absolute wonders, but not everyone would be inclined to carry around a medical tool of such length and particular design.

The thought of Overwatch gave Angela pause as she moved around the garden, taking in its greenery and pillars. Had it really been three years since she’d sat in front of the UN Council, speaking of both the good Overwatch had done and the worrying extent of its unchecked reach? She took another sip of wine. She stood by everything she had said. On the one hand, thousands of lives had been saved, if not millions, thanks to Overwatch’s bravery and sacrifices. On the other hand, even before Blackwatch had been revealed to the public, Angela had wondered just how much violence towards Omnics — every bit as sentient and entitled to rights as human beings — would benefit the planet they shared with the human race.

In particular, she remembered several of Reinhardt Wilhelm’s impassioned rants. More than once, she’d walked by a conversation he’d been having with Morrison about Overwatch’s duty, their obligation to help those who could not help themselves. It wasn’t just about combat, the former Crusader’s argument went; “our means and speed should be matched with our compassion and ability to give. We have bounty, here! It should be shared! People still starve and struggle in this world. Is it not our charge to lift them up as well, not just smash down the Omnics and those despicable Talon terrorists?”

Morrison hadn’t heeded Reinhardt, and in the end, that very passion had seen Angela’s friend forced into early retirement.

_What would you say,_ lieber freund, _if you saw me now?_

Soft chimes rang through the garden. A gentle voice that nonetheless reached the ears of every guest announced the arrival of the Vishkar Corporation’s representatives, and thanked their guests from the Ministries of Oasis for their attendance. Angela looked towards the gateway through which all of them had entered at one point or another, to see a pair of figures striding in with the grace and purpose of people who had no doubts as to their place in the world. Both of them had painted their bodies blue, and were draped with gold and precious gems, from the bangles around their wrists to the brocade on their shoes. The male figure was wearing yellow trousers and several necklaces, a bright red stole around his arms as he waved to the guests. The female’s clothes were white, a brief top and wrap-around skirt that only came to mid-thigh. They both had a striking look, and commanded the gazes of the room as they entered.

Angela took another slow sip of her wine, and moved through the crowd, greeting colleagues and thanking them for their compliments on her costume. Out of the corner of her eye, someone in dark clothes moved past the bar, and there was something about the motion that gave her pause. Then, the Minister of Biology touched her arm.

“Doctor Ziegler,” Tariq said, teeth of a wide smile glittering beneath his shining eyes and bright blue turban. “May I present Satya Vaswani, of the Vishkar Corporation. Miss Vaswani, this is my finest colleague and a brilliant healer, Doctor Angela Ziegler.”

“Charmed,” Satya said. She did not extend a hand, nor did she seem to put any warmth behind the word. Angela, somewhat put off by the brusqueness, nonetheless smiled.

“Likewise. Thank you very much for this lovely party.”

“We wish to know Oasis and its people more comprehensively.” Angela noted that Satya’s tone was poised, even haughty, but had a hollowness to it, a sort of detachment that indicated her mind was disconnected from the conversation, at least to a degree. “A party seemed like a good way to…”

After a moment of Satya searching for the right words, Angela offered: “Break the ice?”

Something like relief crossed Satya’s face. She nodded. “Yes. Precisely.”

“Parties are useful for that, yes.” Angela dropped the pitch of her voice, made it more conspiratorial. “Though they can be very uncomfortable.”

“Yes. That, they can be.” 

Satya’s expression was still somewhat cold, but in her eyes Angela saw something familiar, the look of a medical student who’d once been very trepidatious in social situations, afraid of her own success. It was a look that Angela had seen in the mirror many times, many years ago.

“It took me a while to get used to ‘mingling’. But if you’re going to be at the forefront of your field, you have to get used to it, at least to some degree.”

“It is not a situation to which I am accustomed.” Satya’s eyes moved from Angela’s face downward, and she reached out a hand towards her. Then, the woman with the blue skin paused. “Excuse me. I believe it is courteous to ask another person before touching something on their body.” Another pause. “Your brooch is crooked. May I correct it?”

“Oh! Oh, certainly.”

Satya’s touch was gentle, tentative. She turned the brooch holding Angela’s scarf in place, then dropped her arm and looked Angela in the face again.

“Thank you. It was very distracting.”

“Your entire costume is distracting, in that it’s beautiful. Who are you dressed as?”

“The closest aspect of the Hindu religion I believe I would represent in this instance would be Saraswati, who has domain over knowledge, music, arts, wisdom and learning. To know Saraswati, it is said, is to know the highest and most pure forms of reality. That is an ideal that one cannot help to aspire to if one is to seek true greatness and order within humanity. While she is also often paired with Brahma as a consort, I insisted to Sanjay that we not appear as such a couple, lest individuals find us unapproachable or downplay attraction that —”

Satya cut herself off, blinking several times. She clasped her hands in front of her, one gripping the other tightly.

“I apologize. I sometimes can ramble about these things.”

Angela smiled warmly. “You have nothing to apologize for, Miss Vaswani. I’m truly delighted to make your acquaintance, and I hope we can talk more soon. I don’t want to take up all of your time, however. Please, if you’re here to speak diplomatically with the Ministers of Oasis, do so. I look forward to hearing what you have to say about them.”

Satya blinked again, and shifted how she was standing. “Thank you, Doctor Ziegler. I hope you enjoy our party. I am truly pleased to have met you as well.”

With that, the Vishkar visitor moved to speak with Anya Al-Shahrani, the Minister of Geology, who was dressed as a Celtic earth-goddess. Angela smiled. _Perhaps Miss Vaswani will find some common ground there; a hostess should not look so uncomfortable at her own party._

Taking another bit of food from a nearby tray, Angela walked away from the rest of the party, through the columns and onto the patio that looked out over the water. Lights in the city center of Oasis glittered on the other side, reflected in the soft waves. It was beautiful here. Everything about Oasis made the rest of the world feel very far away, to say nothing of her old life. To walk through a refugee camp or drag a medical professional over the coals for their shortcomings was an uncomfortable experience, but it was far less strenuous than being in the middle of combat, as she had been time and again with Overwatch. 

She took a long sip of her wine. Another reason she’d left Switzerland was that no matter where she went, whenever she came home, the flight took her over the city, and her eyes were always drawn to the location of the old headquarters. The building had been rebuilt, but in her mind, she could still see the smoke and debris. And within the building itself, for years, the politics and tension had been a stressor in and of itself. As she’d told the UN, she’d tried to mend things. In the end, her efforts had been for naught, and both Jack and Gabriel were dead.

In a place like this, on a night like this, she could leave so many things behind, and just focus on being alive, simply enjoying the air from the water and the taste of the wine and —

“I worked on those grapes personally.”

That voice. Angela knew that voice. She’d know it anywhere.

“Came out brilliantly, don’t you think?”

It came from behind her, immediately behind her. Angela didn’t turn. She didn’t dare look. So many emotions and feelings and needs rushed into her mind that she found herself struggling to remain upright, looking out over the water. The voice was at her ear. She felt the presence behind her, much closer than anyone else had been in a very long time. 

“It’s perfect,” Angela found herself saying, quietly.

“So’s your costume.” A hand came to rest on Angela’s right shoulder. The touch was cool, and it sent tingles through her skin. Angela turned her head, just a little, to look at the hand out of the corner of her eye. Most of it was concealed in a glove, but the fingers of it were left exposed, the nails long and dark and vaguely menacing. 

That’s when Angela caught the scent. The woman smelled like pure, absolute temptation. She smelled like freshly-ground coffee beans and single-malt whiskey and pipe tobacco so aromatic that even if you found smoking a disgusting habit, you’d want to blow smoke rings with it just to halo the person who’d brought it to you. She smelled like something you knew was very bad for you, but all the same, you craved it the way someone with a sweet tooth craved their favorite form of chocolate.

And oh, how Angela adored her chocolate.

She had to work very hard to find her voice. “How do you know what I’m drinking?”

“I asked the bartender.” The brogue in her ear was more pronounced than usual. _She’s been drinking, too._

“I helped program the sommelier subroutines those models use, as well. One of the perks of being a Minister is picking and choosing what I do and when I do it.”

Angela, her hand shaking, took another sip of wine. “That must keep you busy.”

“Not so busy that I haven’t been keeping tabs.” Angela felt the lithe body lean against her back. She felt lips on her earlobe. She wanted to melt. “I hope you’ll forgive me for being so interested. I didn’t want to make a fuss. And your work has been so, so interesting.”

“Thank you.” Angela swallowed. “So… what happens now?”

A hand rested on Angela’s left hip. It squeezed. The right hand slid down Angela’s arm before it, too, squeezed. The long nails pressed into her skin. 

“The question, my dearest Doctor Ziegler, is: what do you want to happen now?”

Angela took a deep, shaking breath. She set her jaw and started, finally, to turn. Eyes of orange and blue gazed, unflinchingly, behind a painted facade of white and black. A stylized moon brought out the blue iris all the more prominently. Black lips slowly curled into a knowing smirk that almost robbed Angela of her resolve all over again.

“I want to know you’re not just going to disappear.”

Moira’s head tilted, just a little bit.

“I want to know that this won’t be another instance where we see each other and then you disappear from my life for years.” She paused. “And no, the occasional email does not count.”

“I thought you would be interested in if I was still alive or not.”

“Of course I am.” Angela sighed. “It’s good to see you.”

“Likewise.” Moira stared at her for a long moment, then: “You still haven’t answered my question. What do you want to happen _now?_ ”

Something inside of Angela, something that had been there without her realizing it, collapsed, and the words tumbled out.

“I want you to take me home.”

The physical grip Moira had on her increased, for just a moment, and Angela thought that those elongated nails might pierce her skin. Then the nails moved, and Angela’s hand was in Moira’s. It only took a gentle tug for her to start moving. Before she realized it, they were outside of the Gardens. An Omnic driver brought a vehicle around, and Moira allowed Angela to slide into the back first. Moira supplied an address, then touched the control that raised the partition between the front and back of the vehicle.

After Moira leaned back, and she and Angela made eye contact, neither of them moved for a long moment. Neither of them would be able to say later who lunged first. 

When they collided into one another, Angela threw her arms around Moira’s neck. Moira took hold of Angela’s hips. Their kiss had the weight of the years they’d spent apart and the mutual desire within them both from their first meeting. As their driver took them through the Oasis twilight, weaving through fast-moving traffic, their hands simultaneously moved: Angela’s hand to Moira’s cheek, caressing her as they kissed, and Moira’s left to Angela’s thighs, fingers slipping between them beneath the skirt of the costume.

The moment she felt Moira’s touch on the bare skin of her thigh, Angela’s body rocked forward. She had been so focused on her work around the world, she’d put things like physical pleasure out of her mind for the most part. Now, the opposite was the case: everything fled from her mind save for the feel and touch and taste of Moira. She moved her hands to Moira’s chest and tugged at the straps crossing over the pale swath of skin beneath. 

The vehicle came to a halt in front of an upscale residential building located near Oasis University. Moira gripped Angela by the wrist and moved towards the door, which opened automatically once the vehicle had stopped. Without looking back or even saying a word to the driver, Moira pulled a breathless Angela across the flagstone walk leading to the front door. Angela barely had the time to take in who was in the lobby and the eyes following them as they headed towards the lifts. There was one ready, with its doors open after disgorging its former passengers, and Moira shouldered past them, Angela too flustered to even offer an apology. 

When the doors closed, Moira turned and pushed Angela against them, and their mouths found on another again. It reminded Angela, distantly, of her first time being this close to Moira. The cool metal of the elevator doors was not unlike the feel of the wall of Moira’s laboratory. Back then, Angela had been torn, unsure if getting so involved with someone like Moira would compromise her principles or her position in Overwatch. Now, Overwatch was gone, a memory that Angela often wished would fade further from her mind every time she donned her Valkyrie suit and took up her staff.

Memories of Moira had been tied to Overwatch, but now that connection was severed. All they had was this moment, the only one that mattered.

The doors slid open, and Angela nearly fell to the floor. Moira’s arm whipped out, and the long-nailed fingers of her right hand clamped around Angela’s wrist. Angela looked up, into Moira’s eyes. The smirk she saw reminded her of the expression she’d seen on a cat when it had captured a small bird. It gave her a momentary chill, but Moira pulled her upright and lead her down the hallway to a door that opened at the Oasis minister’s touch. Angela barely got a glance of the main room of Moira’s domicile, getting only a bare impression of a few pieces of furniture like places to sit and some shelves. 

“Command: Lighting, subdued.” A few sconces throughout came to life with soft, suffused illumination. Angela’s mind, ever analytical, tried to process the sort of voice command software Moira might be using, if it was developed in Oasis or elsewhere. 

Then Moira tugged Angela into the bedroom. There were large windows and a glass door that faced the water and led out to a balcony, but they were mostly obscured by dark, thick curtains. There were similar draperies around the bed itself, quite a sizeable affair with posts and a canopy. With her free hand, Moira pushed the curtains around the bed aside, revealing the silk sheets encasing the mattress. She pulled her other arm to place Angela on the edge of the bed, seated, looking up at Moira.

“Do you remember our last encounter?” Moira’s voice was low, a rolling thing, like the tide creeping up the beach in one wave after another. And like those waters, it had an undertow within it. The tips of Moira’s nails moved up Angela’s bare thigh, and the anticipation was shot through with a vein of uncertainty.

“I do,” Angela whispered.

“Good. I believe I owe you something.”

Regarding her face with a slow smile, Moira lifted the front of Angela’s skirt away and to one side, then removed her right hand from Angela’s skin. It was with her left, untouched by experimentation and surprisingly gentle with its touch, that Moira pushed aside the final barrier of cloth between her and Angela’s most delicate skin. Long and precise, the fingers of Moira’s left hand moved slowly through the soft tuft of short blond hairs. Moira moved the pad of her thumb along the length of Angela’s vulva, and a shudder went through Angeal’s body as if she was a tuning fork that had just been struck in the precise right way.

“Oh…” Angela’s voice was a whisper, barely audible over the sigh that carried it.

Moira’s fingertips went about gently kneading the slope of Angela’s mons. Her right hand, with its talon-like nails, was setting about undoing the top of the outfit she’d been wearing. Angela unclasped her cloak, then began working the small fasteners of the bodice of her costume. Her hand froze when Moira’s head dipped down, and she felt a soft hum as Moira tasted her.

Moira’s tongue brushed against the tender hood and then slowly moved back and forth, back and forth. Angela’s hips rose of their own accord, stimulation coursing through her body like an electric current. She couldn’t remember when, if ever, someone had been able to touch her in such an overwhelming way. More to the point, she didn’t want to remember. She wanted instead to seize this moment; her gloved hands seized Moira’s hair, and her body rocked in the direction of the fingers and mouth that were setting her nerves on fire.

Pressure within Angela built and built, waves of it crashing against her being, and she gripped Moira’s hair even harder when she came. She cried out, keening gasps filling the room with sound, feeling her body writhe in response to Moira’s patient, precise ministrations. For a moment, a very long moment, everything in her from the hair on her head to the soles of her feet was taut, vibrating, a string on a violin plucked in just the right way by an expert musician. Then, she collapsed, panting, her head falling back onto the silk as her pointed hat rolled away and onto the floor.

Cool, sharp edges slid along her left thigh, and she looked up. Moira was standing, now, at the foot of the bed. She’d removed her costume, and Angela realized how pale Moira was. Her body was slender, her muscles lithe, and the only hair Angela could see was on her head. The eyes of the scientist, burning orange and electric blue, moved from Angela’s face downward, taking in the sight of the doctor splayed on the bed before her.

“The _state_ of you…”

Angela remembered, the first time they’d met in person, the way Moira had moved in on her and latched onto the attraction between them… It seemed so very long ago. Yet when Moira said those words, again, in _that_ tone, looking at her like that… It was almost as if no time had passed at all.

Angela bit her lip. She moved her gloved fingers back over her bodice, finishing the work she’d started there to get it off of her body. Moira, smirking, took hold of the skirts attached to that bodice, and once it was loose, pulled the costume down Angela’s legs. The panties followed, and Angela scooted back along the bed, not saying a word, enticing Moira merely with her eyes and the roll of her hips.

Moira crawled onto the bed like a panther stalking through long grass, not breaking eye contact. Their lips met, hungrily kissing, Moira’s right arm now on Angela’s shoulder. When Moira’s hand moved to grip her, Angela reached up and took hold of Moira’s right wrist, leaning back to look in Moira’s eyes.

“I don’t think this hand should be involved.”

Moira’s brows, difficult to discern clearly through the makeup, furrowed. Then, she nodded a bit and removed her right hand from Angela’s body, turning to look at it in the shadows of the sedately-lit bedroom.

“It is a horror, isn’t it?”

“I didn’t say that,” Angela said, moving her own fingers over the somewhat luminous veins in a way that was both caress and examination. “I would just prefer it if you didn’t put these talons of yours near my labia.”

Moira chuckled. “A fair enough request. I’ve had these long enough that I’ve learned how not to hurt myself with them. Or others, under most circumstances.” She paused. “Unless I want to.”

Angela blinked slowly up at Moira. “You don’t want to hurt me, do you, Moira?”

Moira smirked. “Not unless you want me to. And you can hurt me back, if you want.”

In response, Angela leaned up and kissed Moira gently. “You know I’d rather heal than harm.”

Moira turned her wrist around in Angela’s hand. For a moment, her nails were pointed towards Angela. Then, she relaxed her hand and sighed softly, leaning down to nuzzle Angela gently.

“I’m tired,” Moira whispered. It was a tone so soft, Angela herself barely heard it. It was as if Moira was afraid anyone else might hear, like she herself was afraid to say it. “I know I can make a better world, and I do all I can to keep that work in motion. It takes moving in political circles, and dealing with some of the lowest forms of human garbage and Omnic corruption on the planet, and always being one step ahead and relentless and remote and…”

Moira was shaking. Angela slowly released Moira’s wrist and lay back against the bed. She put her arms around Moira’s body and helped her relax, cradling Moira’s head and moving it to rest against her shoulder. She wanted to ask Moira when the last time was that she’d experienced some form of human kindness, this sort of intimacy, contact that had nothing to do with sex or domination or even desire. 

She didn’t say anything. She just held Moira until the shaking stopped. Moira didn’t cry. Angela wasn’t sure Moira could. But she held onto her, and kissed her head, and told her she could relax. Slowly, the tension that had hold of her drained away, leaving nothing more or less than Moira pillowed on her chest. Eventually, Moira fell asleep.

Angela hadn’t expected this. Oh, she’d expected to run into Moira sooner or later. The lack of e-mails or messages from ‘geneSidhe’ hadn’t removed the anticipation of their reunion. What Angela hadn’t expected was seeing a side of Moira that had probably never been revealed to another human being. And if Angela were herself to reveal it, there would be dire consequences. Which ruled out things like public displays of affection or even being seeing out together all that often…

Angela sighed, and closed her eyes. Nothing about life was ever simple, least of all anything at all that had to do with Moira O’Deorain.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The chapter title is taken from the song "Hardest of Hearts" by Florence + The Machine.


	5. Too Close To The Sun

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In the years since the party in Oasis that saw her encountering representatives of the Vishkar Corporation and her reunion with Moira O’Deorain, Angela Ziegler has continued to travel to crisis points around the world to lend medical aid and advice. Her relationship with Moira has given her the first stable, safe ‘home’ she’s had since Overwatch disbanded. But nothing lasts forever.

In the video, Winston adjusts his glasses and sighs.

“You already know this.” He pauses, then: “Look, the people decided they were better off without us. They even called us _criminals!_ They tore our family apart. But look around!”

Scenes from a world in crisis: The Numbani skyscraper explosion. A railway near Route 66 in flames. Omnics assaulting the Kremlin. Japanese children in peril as they mourn an omnic housekeeper and friend. The dispossessed and hungry outside the Temple of Anubis. Omnic rights protesters facing off with King’s Row police.

“Someone has to do something!” Winston’s voice, often so calm and reassuring, breaks with frustration. “ _We_ have to do something!”

He reappears, and glares at the camera. “We can make a difference again. The world needs us _now_ , more than ever!”

He removes his glasses. The frustration becomes determination. And, for what might be the first time in a long time, he smiles, his eyes flashing with anticipation.

“Are you with me?”

* * *

The steam in the bathroom was a comfort. Angela never would take something like real, hot running water for granted. She reclined in the large bathtub in Moira’s apartments, the water soothing her muscles, the foam of the ‘bath bomb’ Moira had dropped in filling her nose with all sorts of heady, floral scents. Angela’s stint in one of Russia’s more remote outposts where skirmishes with rogue omnics still took place had been a longer one, and after getting her home and becoming tangled in one another, Moira had insisted that Angela relax. Relieved to be home and awash in afterglow, Angela had certainly not been inclined to protest. She wondered, absently, if part of her globetrotting was a way to make sure she appreciated the difference this home made, that Moira made.

It occurred to her that she was being a little selfish, languishing in the tub for so long. She stood and stepped out onto the bath mat, turning to pull the plug in the water. Foamy swirls escaped down the drain as Angela toweled off. She watched, and was reminded of rainbow wisps of starstuff getting pulled into a black hole, disappearing forever into nothingness. It gave her a chill. She slipped into her robe — freshly laundered, thanks to Moira — and moved for the door.

The black smoke that wafted into the bedroom from the balcony door gave her pause. She pulled the bathroom door a little bit more closed, looking out through the narrow viewpoint there.

Moira was wearing her own robe, a black dressing-gown with lavender trim as opposed to the fluffy white bathrobe Angela had donned. Moira looked over her shoulder towards the windows. Her expression was unsurprised and, if anything, annoyed.

“I thought I told you I wasn’t to be disturbed here,” she said flatly.

The smoke coalesced into a tall, lean humanoid form. The person was clad in a dark long coat, clawed gloves, and a curious and imposing white mask, resembling the skull of a bird or lizard.

“Where is she?”

The voice from behind the mask was a guttural growl, the verbalization of an affected sneer.

“You’re going to have to be more specific.”

“The doctor. The ‘guardian angel’. I know she’s here.”

Moira sniffed. “You do, do you.”

“Don’t play games.” The figure took a step towards Moira, their entire body language a thing of menace and murderous intent. “You’ve hidden her from me for years. I’m going to take her off of my list.”

“You’re intruding uninvited and against my expressed wishes. You’re leaving.”

“Not until I—”

Moira brought up her right hand and snapped her fingers.

Immediately, the bottom half of the black figure began to come apart into smoke. Unlike their entrance, this fog was diffuse. Angela could see right through it. The figure made an anguished sound, and at that moment, the connections in her brain finally snapped into place.

_Gabriel?_

“What are you… what is this?” He looked down at his dissolving form, then back up at Moira.

“Let me be perfectly clear.” Moira’s voice was cold and clinical. “I made you what you are. And I can unmake you with a thought. I’m drawing this out to make things plain. I could have just as easily unraveled your entire physical being and let the air conditioning finish the work of destroying you. Cross me again, and I will do it without a second’s hesitation, without a moment’s remorse.”

“Why… are you… protecting her?”

“That is irrelevant to your current predicament.” Moira stepped closer, unafraid, seemingly unaware that she was barely dressed and, for all intents and purposes, unarmed. Yet she was now the dominant presence in the room. She pointed at him with her right hand, the veins and tendrils wrapping up her wrist glowing with menace. With his lower body all but intangible, as he sank towards the floor, the impression Angela got was that Moira was forcing him to kneel before her. “We may be equals in the eyes of Talon, but I am your superior. I am your creator. And you _will_ obey me.”

A strangled sound came from Gabriel’s mask. Moira smirked.

“Oh, dear. Your lungs are coming apart. Better nod, if you want to communicate that you understand me.”

After a moment, with his empty eye sockets glaring at Moira, he nodded.

“Splendid. Now get out.”

She lowered her right hand, its light fading, and she snapped her left hand’s fingers. With a sigh, part relief and part indignant rage, Gabriel returned to his shadowy form and slid back out the way he came. Moira crossed her arms and, with a roll of her eyes, shook her head.

Angela slowly opened the bathroom door.

“That was Gabriel Reyes.”

“He goes by ‘Reaper’ these days. Melodramatic prat.”

“Is it true, what you said? That you made him that… thing?”

Moira settled her eyes on Angela. “How did you think he could do the things he did when he was in Blackwatch? When Overwatch was disbanded, I anticipated him exploring his powers as some sort of independent contractor or mercenary. I underestimated his desire to act out his childish frustrations. Putting together his little ‘list’, like a sullen teenager with a chip on his shoulder.”

“You didn’t anticipate a thing, Moira. It was all about the experiment for you.”

Moira said nothing. Angela pressed on.

“You didn’t give a thought to what Gabriel would do with your work. He wasn’t a person to you. He was a test subject. A lab rat.”

“And if I had given such a thought, what then? Should I have stopped everything, put important exploration into the reorganization and improvement of the human form on hold, just to talk at length about his ‘feelings’?”

“People _have_ feelings, Moira. Gabriel is — or was — a person. People deserve to have the space to exist, to think for themselves, to feel.”

“You need to staunch that bleeding heart of yours, darling, or it _will_ kill you.”

Something twisted within Angela, like a stiletto in her chest.

“Answer me this.” She struggled to keep her voice calm. “If you can be so cavalier with feelings in your laboratory, how am I to see how you treat feelings in your bedroom?”

“They’re two different things. Apples and oranges.”

“You can’t compartmentalize something like that. It’s not diametric hypotheses. It’s people.”

“Do you think you’re next for the slab?” Moira stepped towards Angela. “You’re afraid. You’ve always _been_ afraid. But you don’t have to be. I’ve seen your courage. Embrace that. Stop running from who you are. Do more of what makes you come alive.”

“What do you think I do when I’m not here? I stay connected to those in need. I do not see myself as above them, or better than them. I watch over them, not because I am entitled to do so, but because it is my duty, and my honor.”

“Your only duty is to yourself,” Moira told her. “To the science, the medicine. We cannot ascend to the stars if we remain rooted in the gutters. We have great things to do, you and I. And we are finally in a place where we can do them unencumbered.”

“What am I to you, Moira?”

Moira’s eyes narrowed. “What do you mean?”

Angela’s voice quivered. “Do you love me?”

There was silence. Moira stared at Angela, then she moved out of the bedroom towards the kitchen. “I do not have enough wine for this conversation.”

When Moira was out of the room, Angela set her jaw. “That’s what I thought.”

She went to her side of the bed. She picked up her handheld. And, in spite of herself, she brought up Winston’s message.

She had heard his words, over and over again, since the message had come to her over a year ago. She hadn’t responded. She didn’t know how. At least, she hadn’t when she’d been here with Moira, wrapped up in scientific debate and meals under the Oasis starlight and the sex. Now, it was as if she was watching the message for the first time all over again, but with a new perspective, a part of her that had laid dormant within her for a very long time.

_“Are you with me?”_

She put down the handheld. She took a deep breath.

She pulled out her luggage from under the bed, slipped the robe off of her body, and began pulling out her Valkyrie suit.

“Do you want a glass?” Moira’s voice floated in from the kitchen.

Angela didn’t respond. She got herself situated quickly, as if there was a medical emergency miles away. She took up her staff and moved to the sliding balcony door. There, across the street, was a lower rooftop. She looked over her shoulder to see Moira walking in with a bottle of Gewürztraminer and two glasses. Moira stopped short at the sight of Angela suited up and standing on the balcony. Her eyes went wide.

“No,” Moira said quietly.

Angela felt the tears in her eyes, but she turned and she jumped.

Immediately upon feeling the pull of gravity, the suit spread its wings and held her aloft. She alighted on the rooftop she’d seen from Moira’s balcony and ran for all she was worth to the opposite side. She kept moving in this way, flying, falling, running, crying, as long as she could. When she finally stopped, she collapsed, head in her hands, the sobs wracking her body as she knelt by an air processing unit.

Sniffing, she removed the small handheld comm unit from her belt, slipped its earpiece into place, and tapped a connection that hadn’t been used in years.

“Doctor Ziegler?”

She only saw Winston’s face for a moment before he toppled off of his tire in front of the camera. There was a crash, and a few peanut butter lids rolled into view before they, too, disappeared. Winston righted himself and adjusted his glasses. In spite of her prevailing feelings, Angela smiled.

“Hello, Winston. I know it’s been some time.”

“Yes! Yes, it has.” The scientist smiled. “I’m glad to hear from you. Where are you?”

“Oasis.” She responded to his question before she registered she was speaking, regardless of the security of the channel or who might be listening in. “I... “

“Is that Mercy?!?” There was a blue flash, and Lena Oxton was leaning over Winston’s shoulder, grinning. “Oi, Doc! How are you, luv?”

Angela almost started crying all over again, for a completely different reason. “Hello, Tracer.”

“Oasis, you say?” Winston was typing something. “We can have the Orca there in a few hours.”

“Sooner if I really open up her engines!” Tracer disappeared, but Angela heard her voice across the room. “Oi! Reinhardt! Guess who we’re going to pick up!”

“There’s a Talon presence here,” Angela told Winston. “It won’t be safe.”

“Let us worry about that.” Winston had that gleam in his eye, the same one from the end of his message. “Tracer will contact you when they’re close, and you can tell her a good place for a LZ.” HIs expression softened, as if taking in her face for the first time. “Don’t worry, Doctor Ziegler. We’re coming to get you. We’ll bring you home.”

_Home._ The word hit that soft spot in Angela’s chest, hurting her while making the stiletto feeling vanish at the same time.

_Winston’s there. Tracer’s there. And Reinhardt…_

“Thank you, Winston.”

He nodded, and the screen went dark, save for the symbol of Overwatch. 

She sank back against the cool metal of the rooftop machinery, and she waited.

She had no idea how long she was there before she heard that voice again.

“Coming to a hospital was smart, if predictable.”

She looked up. There was Moira, in a utilitarian outfit that nonetheless had billowing sleeves. The long nails of her right hand glowed slightly. Angela could see the biotic processor on Moira’s back. Taking the Caduceus staff in both hands, Angela got to her feet. Once she was standing, her right hand went to the sidearm blaster she kept tucked in a holster at the small of her back.

“Are you here to capture me? Kill me?”

Moira’s mouth curled downwards. “As ucht Dé, Angela, I am not your enemy.”

“You’re with Talon. You’re a terrorist.”

“That’s absurdly reductive. You might as well accuse a person making an omelette of cruelty to animals.”

“Answer my question.”

Moira sighed. “I’m here neither to capture you, nor to kill you. I’m making sure nobody else does.”

Angela’s brows furrowed. “What?”

Moira rolled her eyes so hard her head tilted back, and then her palm came up to meet her face as it fell back forward. She shook her head, then looked up at Angela.

“You’re going back. To Overwatch.”

“Explain to me how that isn’t my safest option.”

“I can keep you safe. You can stay with me.”

A dark, Reaper-like fog of emotion welled up inside of Angela again. “No, I can’t.”

“Angela…”

“No.” Angela tapped her staff on the hospital’s roof. “No, you _listen_ to me. You work with people who stand against everything I work for. You’re in league with people who throw human lives away in the name of a ‘higher purpose’ that does nothing but spread pain and misery. You create chaos to reap some sort of reward from the devastation.”

“Talon is a means to an end.” Moira scowled. “I don’t even like most of them. I admire Akande but other than him, the Devil can take the lot of them for all I care.”

“That’s just _it._ You _don’t_ care, Moira. Not about Talon, not about human lives, and _not about me._ ”

Moira recoiled as if struck. “That is not fair.”

“Was I ever anything more than a diversion to you? A pet? A decent lay?”

“I thought we could be _partners_.” Moira’s voice was beginning to lose its smooth overtones. Her syllables began to roll. “I’ve never wanted anything more than to work with you, to create a new world with you. As ucht _Dé_ , Angela, it’s your _mind_ that captivated me. The fact that you’re beautiful to behold in heart as well as form is a bonus.”

“You’re only saying this now because I’m leaving.”

Moira scowled again, and she broke eye contact, looking away and downward. Angela lifted her chin a little bit.

“Now who’s afraid?”

Moira clenched her left hand in a tight fist.

“I will not stand in your way.”

Angela blinked. “What?”

“If you want to leave, that is your choice. I won’t take that away from you. I… respect you too much.”

_You can say it,_ Angela wanted to scream. _You can say the words. It’s not a weakness. Tell me. Tell me how you feel, for once, now is the only time we might have—_

“I can’t do much if an Overwatch vehicle comes into Oasis airspace. Once it’s detected, you’ll be on your own.” She finally looked up at Angela. There was something reflecting the moonlight in her eyes. “Until then, I can still keep you safe.”

Angela’s heart pushed into her throat. “Moira, I…”

Moira raised her right hand and, for a moment, Angela felt a chill down her spine. But it was a gesture without malicious intent.

“I’m glad for the time we had,” Moira said quietly. “I… I understand how you feel.”

“Do you?” Angela couldn’t keep a slight sneer of disbelief out of her voice, and she regretted it.

Moira’s head snapped to meet Angela’s eyes. “I am not an idiot. I can imagine other people complexly. You say one cannot compartmentalize, but if you know anything about me, you know I am just as complex as any other individual, and I do have that ability. You had a special place in my heart, and damn it all, you _still do_ and you _always will_.”

Angela gripped her staff and, in spite of herself, spoke her heart.

“Come with me.”

Moira stared at her.

“Leave Talon behind. Come with me. You won’t be leaving anything behind that matters. Bring your mind, your science. We can make room for you. We can—”

Moira laughed. Softly. Bitterly.

“I’m disavowed, remember? I was cast out. Too radical. Too unethical.”

“We can talk about it.”

“Do you really think they’d accept me? Do you really think they can square their righteousness with my ambitions? No, darling. No. That isn’t going to happen.”

“You don’t know that,” Angela protested. “You won’t, until you try.”

Moira raised an eyebrow. Then, she smiled. It was an expression that was touched with sadness, as everything about her was right now, but it was wry as well.

“There may very well be a flaw in your hypothesis, Doctor.”

“Will we know for certain if it remains untested?”

Angela was smiling back. Her eyes still hurt from crying, but she held onto this moment, when drama and pain had given way to the sort of scientific banter that had filled so many nights in the years between the party in the gardens and this conversation on a hospital rooftop.

It was like a magnetic force between them. However, unlike the past, both of them were resisting it. And both of them wore the strain of that on their faces.

“I don’t get to be happy.”

Angela blinked. “What do you mean?”

“I’m never satisfied. It’s my nature.” Moira shrugged. “It’s what drives me to pursue my goals, ignore petty morality and restrictions, create a better world for a better class of humanity. It’s what drove me to bring you into my life.” She paused. “And I struggle to learn from failures. Like my failure to keep you, to make you into someone you’re not.”

“Who did you want me to be?”

“Someone who’d stay.”

Angela’s throat tightened. There was that pull, again, towards the slender figure standing across from her. There was also a swell of resentment and discomfort, at someone wanting to change her in that way.

But was she any different?

She wanted Moira to change, too. To be more tender, more compassionate. To see her place in a world that could acknowledge emotion and the human factor, rather than seeing it as a chess board full of Petri dishes.

Angela finally found her voice, and said: “I guess we’re both fools in that regard.”

Something shone in Moira’s eyes again. Her smile faded, yet it remained.

“No. We’re both dreamers. We’ve tried to find our way exclusively by each other’s moonlight.”

Angela smiled back. “We’re seeing the dawn before anyone else, and it’s searing our eyes.”

Moira laughed quietly, seemingly in spite of herself. “Ironic, isn’t it? You’re the one with the wings. Yet I’m the one who flew too close to the sun.”

In the silence that fell between them, that magnetism crackled again. As they looked at one another, it occured to Angela that perhaps this is the best either of them could hope for right now. If there was a way to wrap them both in amber…

Moira cocked her head to one side and touched her left ear. Angela’s blood ran cold. _Talon._

“I have to go,” Moira said. “Apparently Reaper went whining to Akande about our relationship and I’m expected to —” The scientist made a disgusted noise and raised her fingers for air quotes. “ — ‘explain myself.’ As if I owe them anything.”

“You don’t,” Angela replied firmly. “You don’t even owe them your continued presence.”

“For now, I do, if I’m to buy you time.” Moira turned her back on Angela. Then, she looked over her shoulder. “I’m going to miss you.”

Angela swallowed. “How hard was that to say?”

Moira made a face. “On a scale of 1 to 10?”

In spite of herself, Angela smiled wide. “Yes.”

“About an 8.”

Angela sighed. “I’ll miss you too, Moira. Go well.”

Moira gave her one last, sad smile. Then, in a swirl of dark mist and a whoosh of vacated air, she was gone.

Angela slipped into the hospital. There was a small café attached to the north wing for employees and visitors, and Angela knew she’d need food for the next part of the evening’s activities. She ignored some of the looks she got as she moved through the room in her Valkyrie suit, and picked out a few things to eat and drink. She ate slowly, somewhat wary, bites of food and sips of water interrupted occasionally by wracking sobs and upswells of anger.

Beneath the veneer of casual disregard and cold calculation, Angela had seen in Moira a kindred spirit. The anger came from frustration at Moira leaning so hard into the former rather than joining Angela in exploring the latter. Was it worth Angela’s time and energy holding on to any sort of hope at all that such things might change? She wasn’t sure. She might never be sure. It threatened to be one of those sorts of questions that plagued the brokenhearted for the rest of their lives.

Eventually, what was left of the sandwich was forgotten on the table as Angela got lost in thought. She stood and began wandering the halls of the hospital, somewhat numbed. It wasn’t until she came across a nurse standing outside of a patient’s room looking down at a chart that Angela felt compelled to say or do anything other than put one foot in front of the other.

“Excuse me,” she said in Arabic. “Are you all right?”

“Hm?” The nurse looked up. “Yes, I’m just… concerned about my patient.”

“If I may ask, what is their condition?”

The nurse furrowed her brows, then after a moment, took a step back as her mouth opened.

“You are… you are with the Ministry of Biology. You…”

“I am not here for them,” Angela said, holding up a hand. Her other, she realized, was holding her staff close to her side. “I am… visiting.” She studied the nurse’s nametag. “Firuzeh, I apologize if I am crossing a line, or…”

“No,” Firuzeh replied, taking Angela’s wrist. “Please. I thought I knew what was wrong, but my patient’s just getting worse. I would appreciate your advice.”

Angela glanced to her left, then to her right. “I… suppose I could answer some questions, tell you some stories from my experiences?”

Firuzeh’s eyes lit up and she nodded. “Thank you. Thank you...”

“Angela. You may call me Angela.”

The patient, it turned out, had been involved in a nasty road accident while driving an experimental vehicle the Ministry of Transport had been planning to put into production. Its new power source, however, had proven to be volatile during the accident that had put the man in front of Angela and Firuzeh into this hospital bed. Angela looked over his chart — without touching it, Firuzeh held it for her — and thought for a long moment.

“I believe this may be a case of intrusive nanite contagion.”

Firuzeh blinked. “I beg your pardon?”

“The vehicle had self-repair nanites installed to give the vehicle a longer lifespan and fewer maintenance needs. When the accident occurred, I think one of those repair centers shattered and the nanites got into your patient’s bloodstream.”

“Wait. Hold that thought. Let me get Gaspar.”

Angela blinked as Firuzeh rushed out. She returned moments later with another nurse, a male-shaped Omnic, wearing nurse’s scrubs in a similar style to Firuzeh’s, only his were pink and covered in small cartoon animals, as opposed to Firuzeh’s plain pale green.

“By the Iris,” Gaspar breathed. “You did not tell me you’d gotten this information from Mercy herself!”

Angela felt heat rising to her cheeks. “I do not wish to make a fuss or break any rules.”

“Tut, tut,” Gaspar clucked, moving to the patient’s bedside. “I have been caught up with other patients on the other side of the ward all evening. I think you just may save this man’s life.”

“Then she is correct?” Firuzeh’s voice was full of hope. “It is that contagion?”

“That is the most logical conclusion. Nanite medicine is a very new field for humans to explore.” The Omnic looked up at Angela. “How did you know the vehicle in question had that feature?”

_Because Moira was talking about it, since the nanites were her idea, based on our research…_ “I read a report about them. There are very few differences between medical and technological nanites.”

“Yes. When you get to a certain point, we are all the same star-stuff, aren’t we?” The lights on his face glittered. “Yes, this is just what we needed to know. I will summon Doctor Fasil, so we can make sure he feels included while we do all of the life-saving decision-making.” He looked up at Firuzeh and then turned to Angela. “I will need to tell Doctor Fasil that we received advice from you, Doctor Ziegler. I am more familiar with nanotechnology than Firuzeh is, but this nanite work would have been too subtle for me to identify without your help. It looks quite a bit like a misfired auto-immune response, after all…”

“I understand,” Angela said, interrupting the affable Omnic. “And I know Doctor Fasil. He does not like sharing his successes.” _And he’ll more than likely alert someone in the Ministries to my presence, which means Moira, which means Talon…_ “I should go.”

“I am, of course, not obligated to take the most direct route to Doctor Fasil necessary.” One of the lights on Gaspar’s face blinked off and on. “Firuzeh, please listen for my signal. I will alert you when we are en route.”

“Thank you, Gaspar.” Firuzeh smiled, and the Omnic walked back out towards the elevators, hands in his pockets and whistling quietly to himself. Firuzeh turned to Angela. “How can we keep him stable?”

“Let me show you.”

With Angela’s guidance, Firuzeh administered the right mix of medicines, sedatives, and solvents to slow the work the nanites were doing in the body of the patient. They would need to be reprogrammed to realize they were in a human body, and not the fuselage of a vehicle. Nanites, for all of their technological wonders, could be very dumb sometimes. 

At length, Firuzeh’s pocket vibrated. She removed a small handheld device and read its display.

“Gaspar is on his way back with Doctor Fasil.” She paused. “And a security detail.”

Angela swallowed. _So this is it._ “I see.”

“Gaspar is trying to stall them. I will do what I can when they arrive. You should get moving.”

“Yes. Thank you, Firuzeh.”

Before she could say another word, Firuzeh embraced her.

“Thank _you_ , Doctor.” The nurse held her at arm’s length. “The world still needs you, Mercy. We’ll be cheering for you from here.”

Angela’s vision went a little blurry, and she nodded. She was turning out of the patient’s room when the comm in her ear chirped.

“Doctor Ziegler!” It was Tracer’s perky voice. “We’re about to enter Oasis airspace. Where should we pick you up?”

“City Center,” Angela said without hesitation. “Talon probably already has you on their radar.”

As she spoke, she looked up to see Gaspar gesturing like a tour guide as Doctor Fasil, a burly bearded man currently wearing surgical scrubs, and two security guards tried to move past the Omnic into the ward. They were looking in her direction. One spoke into a comm while the other began walking towards her. 

“We’re already on it,” Tracer said. “Where are you now?”

Firuzeh was steaming towards the guards, exclaiming furiously. “How _dare_ you bring stormtroopers onto my ward, Doctor Fasil! You know that open carry of firearms is against regulations, to say nothing of the two gunshot wound victims right here near the elevators, I mean did you even _think_ before…”

Angela couldn’t help but smile as she turned and walked quickly, until she was around a corner in an empty corridor, where she broke into a run.

“Southern hospital. I’m heading north.”

“Got it! Don’t worry. Just stay on the move. We’ll be there!”

When she got to the emergency stairwell, Angela didn’t hesitate. There wasn’t an easy way to ascend the stairs, so she opted to head down. Talon might have their eyes on the skies specifically, and she didn’t want to get clipped by any anti-aircraft fire aimed at the Orca. So she deployed her wings to float to the ground floor. A door slammed open above her, and she heard shouts. She looked up to see security guards producing weapons. She drew her blaster and sent several shots up the stairwell, causing their heads to snap back out of the line of fire. She touched down on the ground floor, and was out the door in the next heartbeat.

The alley was deserted, and she moved into the street. The traffic was surprisingly light, and as she moved north, it died out completely. That was disconcerting. Then, out of nowhere, Talon soldiers appeared, carrying pulse rifles underslung with taser attachments. With a wave of nausea at the impending violence, Angela drew her sidearm again and opened fire. Two of Talon’s thugs went down before one of them hit her with the taser leads from the launcher below the rifle’s barrel. Angela felt an electrical charge course through her body, freezing her muscles.

Before another could let fly, there was a dull but resonant **thud** of metal connecting with a skull.

It took a moment for Angela to realize what she was seeing. An armored figure, too small to be Reinhardt, was striking one Talon soldier after another with what appeared to be a mace. As the metal weapon struck home, Angela felt something warm wash over her, and feeling returned to her tendons and extremities. When one of the soldiers raised their rifle to open fire, the figure brought up their left arm, and a small shield sprang to life, deflecting the shots. The figure turned to Angela and smiled, her free hand offered for assistance. Taking it, Angela got to her feet, realizing she recognized the face next to her.

She blinked. _Is that Torbjörn’s_ daughter _? What was her…_ “Brigitte?”

“I’ll hold them off,” the young squire replied. “Keep moving; I’ll be right behind you.”

Gripping her mace again, Brigitte lashed out at the soldiers, catching one with the mace-head on the end of a chain and whipping them into another. Angela took the hint and ran down the street.

Talon had somehow gotten civilians out of the way, the better for their soldiers to give chase. However, true to her word, Brigitte kept up, smashing down the pursuers and creating a distraction. Angela didn’t have to do any mental gymnastics to deduce from where Brigitte had picked up such skills. But what did her father think of such things?

Her thoughts were interrupted by an amplified, grating vocalization. It sounded like someone in pain. Angela looked over her shoulder and saw a red streak.

“Assassin!” It was Brigitte’s voice in Angela’s ear. “She’s right behind Mercy!”

“Leave her to me.”

The answering voice was cool, quiet, focused. Angela recognized it immediately.

Talon soldiers were moving into the street ahead of her, and another red streak came out of the corner of her eye. Suddenly, the assassin materialized, screaming as she ran towards Angela, bladed tonfas digging furrows into the pavement.

_“Ryūjin no ken wo kurae!”_

Green light slammed into the assassin, knocking them entirely off-course. Then from one Talon soldier to another, the flash of a long blade slashing with precision. Angela kept moving, trying not to be distracted. For a moment, she made eye contact with the man who’d intervened, her eyes fixed on the green visor looking back.

Genji raised his left hand in a salute, two fingers held upright, as he sheathed the blade that had saved her life, not missing a single stride in his own rapid movement.

“We are here, Doctor Ziegler.” 

He jumped up and out of sight as Talon soldiers and the assassin fell aside, incapacitated or dead. Angela didn’t stop to assess the situation.

She finally arrived at the city center, glancing over her shoulder to make sure Brigitte or Genji were still in sight.

She almost ran headlong into Reaper.

“You’ve given us a good chase, _Doc_.” The man who had been (maybe still was?) Gabriel Reyes produced his shotguns. “But now it’s time for you to d—”

_**“TRAITOR!!”** _

Reaper whipped his head in the direction of the shout but had no time to react. A missile composed of a large and extremely angry German wrapped in Crusader armor slammed into him with the speed of a powerful locomotive. A split-second before they hit the wall, Reaper turned to mist, and Reinhardt left a dent in the City Center’s retaining structure about two and a half meters in diameter.

“Coward! Blaggard!” Reinhardt’s helmeted head shook along with his giant fist. “Come out and fight!”

Angela stared, and the helmet’s visor moved to regard her.

“Ah, here you are, Mäuschen. Are you ready to come home?”

Before she could respond, Reinhardt’s head swung up to look past her, as more Talon soldiers moved into the courtyard, followed by a hulking figure as large as the Crusader with massive, wicked cannons under both of their arms. 

“Ach! Get behind me!”

Reinhardt moved with speed that belied his bulk, his shield appearing between Angela and the heavy assault specialist. A hailstorm of automatic fire tore into the energy field. Angela moved in behind Reinhardt, her staff at the ready. Enforcers moved in, their close-quarters pulse weapons whining as they spun to power. Reinhardt moved between them, dropping his shield to smash them aside with his hammer, then bringing the barrier back up as the heavy assault trooper tried to track them, its fire interrupted by the bodies of other Talon soldiers.

Angela activated her healing stream as Brigitte and Genji arrived, disrupting the soldiers and getting the heavy’s attention. It turned and charged at Brigitte, and Reinhardt cried out as his squire tucked and rolled away at the last moment, Genji hot on the bulky Talon mercenary’s heels.

Reaper chose to reappear at that moment with a shotgun aimed at Angela’s head.

Reinhardt whipped around, hammer at head-height. Angela ducked. Reaper brought his right shotgun up at the last moment and pulled the trigger. The Hellfire round struck Reinhardt in the elbow, splintering the armor in the joint and throwing the hammer’s trajectory off-course. The weapon in Reaper’s left hand let out its demonic bellow as he fired, its barrel aimed at Reinhardt’s kneecap. The large German’s leg almost collapsed entirely, and he managed to move fast enough to get his good knee on the ground to keep himself stable. He got his arm around Angela, looking directly at Reaper as he moved his body to provide her with as much cover as possible. Angela heard Brigitte and Genji chattering through the comm, but the Talon soldiers would make short work of them if they disengaged now.

“Two for the price of one,” Reaper chuckled. “Must be my lucky day.”

Bright light washed over the scene as an Orca transport vectored its engines to hover above the City Center of Oasis. The door in the side of the craft slid open. A figure stood silhouetted against the interior lights, a figure that seemed to be wearing… 

_Mein Gott, of_ course _he still wears those hats._

“Heya, Gabe,” came the drawling voice over the Orca’s external speakers. McCree tipped his hat with his left hand as his right hovered over the holster on his hip. _“Guess what time it is.”_

Reaper sneered audibly. As McCree drew, Reaper’s form again turned to smoke, while the Talon heavy assault specialist and four other soldiers fell dead to the pavement as McCree fanned the hammer of the Peacemaker. Capitalizing on the distraction, Brigitte and Genji closed ranks quickly, the latter’s short blade at the ready to deflect as the former came to Reinhardt’s side.

“Reinhardt. Can you stand?”

“Oof,” came the reply, as the large man struggled. Angela steadied him, studying his shattered knee with worry. “I’m bound to be feeling _that_ in the morning…”

“C’mon!” Lena Oxton looked out from the pilot’s canopy, taking her turn on the PA. “We gotta move!”

Sure enough, more Talon soldiers were appearing in the street, moving in on them. Brigitte brought up her shield as Genji and McCree helped haul Reinhardt into the craft. Then, McCree took Angela’s staff while Genji offered his hand. With a smile, Angela was lifted into the Orca, greeted by a soft and familiar chime.

“Angela Ziegler, M.D., Ph.D..” The crisp, serene voice of Athena filled the Orca’s main compartment. “Former head of medical research. Overwatch field agent and medic. Callsign: ‘Mercy’. Welcome aboard, Doctor.”

“Thank you, Athena.”

“Let’s go!” Brigitte leaped onto the deck and touched the control to close the door. The deck pitched as Tracer lifted the nose of the landing craft and pushed the throttle forward. McCree and Genji were strapping themselves in while Brigitte helped Reinhart out of the damaged parts of his armor.

“Nice work out there, Copperhead,” McCree said to Brigitte with his trademark smile. Brigitte blinked at him, unsure of what to make of the comment. Angela, too, was somewhat puzzled. Then, as more metal was pulled away from Reinhardt’s body, the dented pauldrons and the elbow joints and the breastplate and more, Angela’s eyes were drawn to the blood on his arm and leg.

Her response was immediate, and instinctual.

She got up from her seat and pulled the first aid kit from the wall. Even if she’d had her staff handy — McCree had stowed it somewhere — she would still have wanted the kit. She needed to feel the texture of bandages, have the smell of antiseptic in her nostrils. She went to work cleaning the blood from Reinhardt’s skin to see how bad the wounds were, glad to see they were mostly contusions from his armor bending and not any penetrative shrapnel from Reaper’s weapons.

There was comfort in this controlled chaos. She heard Tracer chattering with Winston over the comm. McCree and Genji were talking with Brigitte on her performance on the ground, and the young Lindholm was already hammering out dents in Reinhardt’s armor. Reinhardt grunted, quietly, as antiseptic sent a pain response through his nerve endings. It was familiar. It felt right.

It felt like home.

Her vision began to blur. It took her a moment to realize that it was from tears rather than any unidentified head trauma. She blinked them away, tried to focus on the work at hand.

Then, Reinhardt’s good arm was around her shoulders, and his lips touched her forehead.

“Don’t worry,” he told her quietly. “I am your shield. I will _always_ be your shield.”

Like a levee overwhelmed by torrential rain, something inside of Angela broke. The next thing she knew, her head was buried in Reinhardt’s chest, the sobs making her entire body shake. She closed her eyes and tried to regain control of her body, her emotions, but it just wouldn’t stop. She felt the strength and patience in the man holding her, and could not have been more grateful. But behind her eyes, all she could see was the face of Moira O’Deorain, strain and grief in her distinctive jawline and beautiful cheekbones, the ghost of a smile on lips Angela already missed.

_Ironic, isn’t it? You’re the one with the wings. Yet I’m the one who flew too close to the sun._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The song that inspired the title of this chapter is Bastille's '[Icarus](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=FehA9OwZflw)'. 
> 
> This fic simply would not exist without my partner-in-crime [AndThenTheresAnne](https://archiveofourown.org/users/AndThenTheresAnne/pseuds/tsukara). I cannot conceive of, nor could I ask for, a better friend. Now that you're done with 'Torn', may I humbly recommend your next read be her excellent "[You're a Bright Light, You're a Fist Fight](https://archiveofourown.org/works/14800539/chapters/34242669)", especially if you're wondering why McCree called Brigitte 'Copperhead' of all things.
> 
> Thank you very much for reading this. I appreciate all of your comments and kudos. And, for whatever it's worth, while this story is done, I'm not done writing in this timeline or about these characters. There's more to come.


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